


the lost generation

by Jennbob



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Black Family, Ensemble Cast, F/M, First War with Voldemort, Gen, M/M, MWPP Era, Marauders, Marauders Friendship, Marauders' Era, POV Multiple, Slow Burn, The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, jily, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2018-01-06 19:09:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 79
Words: 287,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1110486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jennbob/pseuds/Jennbob
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Marauders era at Hogwarts, Voldemort's rise to power and the subsequent war, family loyalties and dishonour, and the struggles of friendship in a difficult time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. an heir is born.

_November 1959._

Cygnus Black steps out of the Floo and into the main reception room of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. Taking a moment to smooth down the front of his robes, he then turns back to the intricate design of the fireplace, inlaid with the Black family crest and motto, and extends a hand to help his wife and daughters out.

“Cygnus!” booms a voice, and he turns around to see Alphard striding across the room towards him, a grin nearly splitting his face.

Cygnus outstretches a hand to his brother, who pauses to scoff at it before knocking it aside, instead seizing Cygnus in a bear hug that nearly lifts him off his feet. Behind him, Cygnus hears Druella tutting her disapproval, and the giggles of Narcissa and Andromeda.

“Hello, brother,” Cygnus says, once Alphard has released him. “How are you?”

“Splendid!” Alphard says, ducking around him to kiss Druella on the cheek, which she endures with a frozen smile on her pale face.

Cygnus knows his wife dislikes his brother, but he’s a favourite with his younger daughters, who squeal with delight when he hugs them both in turn and produces a Galleon each for them from behind their ears. Bellatrix, however, is regarding her uncle with a look of disdain. 

“That’s a stupid trick,” she says plaintively. Andromeda steps on her foot; Bellatrix elbows her in the ribs.

“Now, Bellatrix,” Druella admonishes, but she’s smiling. “That’s not polite.”

“Ah, don’t worry, Dru,” Alphard says, waving a hand dismissively, failing to notice Druella’s lip curl at the nickname. “I’m sure you’ll be top of your year when you start Hogwarts, won’t you, Bellatrix?”

“Mother and Father already let me practice some spells in the house,” Bellatrix says proudly.

“Splendid,” Alphard says again. He ruffles Bellatrix’s dark hair, ignoring her squawk of protest, and turns back to his brother. “So, Cyg, what do you reckon? Boy or girl? Heir or spare? Care for a wager?”

“Certainly not,” Cygnus says stiffly. “Honestly, Alphard, you’re far too careless with your money. And,” he adds, with a glance at his daughters, “I don’t really think talk of gambling is appropriate in front of present company, do you?”

Alphard stares at him for a moment, and then throws his head back with a raucous laugh. Cygnus, not for the first time in his brother’s company, feels stuffy and uptight. As far as he’s concerned, Alphard is far too laid-back about some things. Content to live as a bachelor his whole life he may be, but Cygnus actually takes his family seriously, and he sincerely hopes that upstairs, behind the many Silencing Charms that have been cast, Walburga is delivering a boy. Cygnus adores his daughters, but a male in the Black line would be a thing to really celebrate. 

The heavy door to the reception room is pushed open, and Cygnus drops his gaze to where his sisters’ house-elf is walking slowly into the room. “Masters Cygnus and Alphard,” he croaks, bowing low to the carpet. “Mistress is ready for company now. The child has been delivered safe and well.”

“Thank Merlin for that,” Alphard says, with a wink to Cygnus. “Suspense there was killing me. Come on, Cyg. Ten Galleons say it’s another girl.”

::

Bellatrix is pleased, largely in part because stupid Uncle Alphard has to part with ten Galleons, when the baby turns out to be a boy. 

“His name is Sirius,” Uncle Orion is saying, as Uncle Alphard and Father shake his hand and even Mother smiles a real smile. “Sirius Orion Phineas Black.”

It’s a large name for such a tiny thing. Bellatrix and her sisters crowd closer to Aunt Walburga on the bed, jostling each other in their eagerness to see their cousin. Bellatrix is the oldest and the tallest, but all she can make out is a tuft of dark hair amidst the blankets Aunt Walburga has him swaddled in. 

“I want to see the baby,” Bellatrix demands, but Aunt Walburga doesn’t seem to hear; she’s too busy staring down at her son with an expression on her face Bellatrix is sure she’s never seen there before.

“He’s perfect,” Aunt Walburga whispers. 

“I want to see,” Bellatrix says, stamping her foot, accidentally crushing Cissy’s toes, who cries out in pain.

Mother’s hand on her shoulder is firm. “Be patient, Bellatrix. You’ll have all the time in the world with Sirius soon enough. After all, you will have to teach him about being a Black.”

Bellatrix catches Andromeda rolling her eyes, but she doesn’t care. Bellatrix straightens her shoulders, stands up a little taller with this new responsibility. She’s been trying to teach Andromeda about being a Black for years, but Andromeda doesn’t listen to her, even though she should because Bella is the oldest. Cissy is too small for such things, and still too intent on playing with her dolls. But Sirius is a boy, and now the Black heir. Sirius will be different.

Bellatrix smiles, watching her cousin snuffle in his sleep. She’ll take care of him, Bellatrix swears to herself. She’ll look after Sirius.


	2. just a boy.

_1965._

Lyall Lupin hasn’t slept properly in forty-one hours, managing to keep awake on endless amounts of coffee, black and bitter on his tongue, and as many Energy Charms as he can cast when the Healers aren’t looking. Sometimes he’ll drift off into a fitful, frenzied nap, jerking awake whenever a Healer comes to check on Remus. They’ll give him a sad smile, but their words of encouragement and reassurance are long gone. Now they just say things like, “Maybe it’s best you go home and get some rest, Mr Lupin. We’ll alert you if there’s any change.”

Lyall won’t go. He won’t move a muscle from this seat next to his son’s hospital bed. He won’t leave him.

Hope can’t bring herself to stay at St Mungo’s, says she can’t bear to look at Remus like this, but Lyall knows what she means is she can’t bear to look at _him_. It’s his fault that their son, always small in their eyes but now impossibly tiny and so fragile, is lying near death in this place, in this ward of all places. 

The Healers call it a private ward, but Lyall knows it’s the contamination ward. As if lycanthropy can spread from person to person just by breathing, for Merlin’s sake. He half wishes it were true, that he could breathe in his son’s condition, take all his pain away from him and into himself. 

It’s not fair. It’s all his fault. Lyall grips his wand tight in his hand, thinking he’ll be ready next time, if ever he sees that monster again; forget Stunning and all the rest, he’ll go straight for an Unforgivable, who cares if they throw him in Azkaban, it’ll be worth it, it’ll be —

“Dad?” 

Lyall starts, nearly dropping his wand. Remus is awake, his eyes unfocused, his breathing shallow, but he’s alive, _he’s alive_. Lyall stumbles forward, gripping his son in a hug, and he still feels like Remus, delicate boy-bones beneath the thin material of his pajama top, tiny shoulders with no definition yet, that tremble under Lyall’s arms. For one glorious second Lyall breathes in the smell of him and allows himself to forget, until a Healer barges over, pushing Remus back down on the bed with far more force than is necessary, shining her wand into Remus’s wide, terrified eyes.

“Hey now,” Lyall says. “Don’t be so rough, he’s only five years old, for Merlin’s sake.”

“Mr Lupin, stand back, please. It’s for your own safety.”

“Now see here.” Lyall bristles, planting his feet. “This is ridiculous. It’s not even a full moon.”

“Dad, what -” Remus’s voice is very small, and very frightened, and all boy. 

A boy. He’s a boy. Lyall can see his son’s chest heaving up and down; Lyall clenches his wand, but then thinks better of it. He needs to be here for Remus.

“It’s okay, Remus. Everything is going to be okay.”

The Healer is saying, “Here, drink this, Remus - calm down Mr Lupin, it’s a sleeping draught. Eases nightmares.”

“Dad?”

Lyall glares at the Healer, and then nods tightly. “It’s all right, son. Drink it up.”

Remus is back asleep in seconds, his fair brown hair framing his wan face on the pillow. The Healer’s face is grim; she turns to say something to Lyall, but he storms off out of the room to send Hope an owl. She’s there within an hour, her brown hair escaping from its pins and her eyes terrified. She clutches at Lyall’s arm when she sees him.

“Oh, Lyall. What are we going to do?”

She didn’t think Remus would make it, Lyall realises with a sudden lurching sensation. It’s a horrible thought, but then again, what part of this isn’t horrible? He slides am arm around her shoulders, relieved when she doesn’t push him away, and she sobs into the shoulder of his jacket.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs into her hair. “We’ll think of something. We’ll manage. It’s okay.”

He keeps repeating that - _it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay_ \- until some part of him even starts to believe it.

::

Six years later, when a letter arrives from Albus Dumbledore on the Lupin kitchen table in the middle of breakfast, with details of a tree and a shack and full of the reassurances that his son has been so deprived of by everyone else, Lyall’s shoulders slump with relief. 

He smiles at Remus, sitting quietly across from him, buttering his toast with a scarred but steady hand. 

It might never be okay, but it’s a start at least.


	3. first impressions.

_September 1st, 1971._

Peter Pettigrew wriggles free from his mother’s perfumed embrace, pawing at the lipstick stains now on his cheek.

“Yeuch,” he says, with feeling. “ _Mu-um!_ You’re embarrassing me.”

“Nonsense, Petey,” Philomena croons, gesturing at everyone else on the platform around them where scores of other parents are subjecting their children to the very same treatment. “Nothing wrong with saying goodbye to my precious little man!”

Peter ducks away from another kiss so that his mum ends up pecking the air above his head instead. Straightening up, Peter catches the eye of a boy who looks around his age with long, black hair and a rather large nose; Peter smiles at him, thinking he could do with making friends with another First Year before he gets to Hogwarts. The boy sneers at him and turns away. Peter tries not to feel too disappointed. After all, there will be plenty of other chaps to make friends with at school. Maybe even some girls, too. 

Cheered at the thought, Peter allows his mum to hug him once more before the train whistle sounds a warning. All along the platform students are boarding, hanging out of windows to wave to their families, shouting goodbyes. Peter hops into the nearest carriage, trying to avoid looking at his mum, who is now crying loudly. _Merlin, can’t take her anywhere_ , Peter thinks, and feels palpable relief when he feels the carriage floor lurch beneath his feet, and Platform 9 and 3/4 gradually slides out of view.

Whistling, he sets about finding a compartment to sit in, first of all shoving his suitcase into the luggage rack. Turning around, he finds himself face to face with the same hook-nosed boy from the platform.

“Hallo,” Peter says cheerfully. “I’m Peter.”

The boy’s dark eyes flick over him carelessly. “How great for you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to find a friend.”

“Oh, brilliant, you know somebody already, do you?” Peter says, following the boy, who still hasn’t given his name. Bit rude, really, but Peter doesn’t have a lot of other options. “I don’t know anybody, myself,” Peter tells him, as the boy sticks his head into compartment after compartment. “Dad says I’ll make loads of friends, though. It’s all terribly exciting, isn’t it?”

“Thrilling,” the boy mutters, and then, pulling open another set of compartment doors, he smiles - it’s an odd quirk of thin lips, but a smile all the same. “Lily,” the boy says warmly, stepping into the compartment; Peter hesitates a moment, and then thinks, _in for a Knut, in for a Galleon_ , and darts in after him.

A redhead girl is sat by the window - Lily, presumably, because she looks up at the name and smiles too. There are two other people in the compartment, and they’re definitely not Lily’s; one is a boy with extremely messy hair and glasses, and the other a pale-faced boy with light brown hair, huddled into the corner with a book on his lap.

“Sev,” the girl says, getting to her feet and hugging the hook-nosed boy. 

He has a name. Peter slides into a seat next to the reading boy, who glances over and offers him a small smile. The boy with glasses isn’t paying any attention to him; he’s too busy watching the other two.

“I waited for you last night, in our spot,” Sev is saying. “You didn’t come.”

“Sorry,” Lily says, pulling a face. “Tuney was upset. She wanted me to stay with her.”

Sev scowls. “I don’t know why you bother so much about her. She’s not very nice.”

“She’s my sister.”

“She’s a Muggle,” Sev mutters.

“Sev -” Lily begins, frowning, but the boy in the corner looks up from his book.

“What’s wrong with Muggles?” he asks; his voice is quiet, but firm.

“I’m not talking to you,” Sev says disdainfully, eyeing, Peter notices, the boy’s patched robes. “It’s rude to interrupt people’s private conversations.”

“You’re having this private conversation in the _middle of the compartment_ ,” the boy with glasses points out. “Plus, it’s rude to be nasty about Muggles.”

Sev flushes. He glances quickly at Lily, and says, “I’m not - Muggles are all right, but, you know, they’re not - they’re not -”

“Not what?” the boy with glasses asks, with a vaguely threatening air, standing up. 

Peter watches, open-mouthed, wondering if there’s going to a fight. They’ve been on the train less than ten minutes, and this is _brilliant_.

“Not like us,” Sev finishes lamely, with a desperate glance at Lily.

The boy with glasses is rolling up the sleeves of his robes, reaching for his wand - Peter thinks his jaw might actually unhinge itself from his mouth in a minute - but then Lily whirls around and faces him, jabbing the boy in the chest with her index finger.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she asks shrilly. “Leave him alone. He didn’t mean it like that - did you, Sev?” Before Sev can reply, Lily says, “Come on, let’s get out of here,” and grabs him by the wrist, pulling him out of the compartment.

The boy with glasses twirls his wand in his fingers before pocketing it. “What a prat,” he says, and then turns to the other two. “Hey, sorry about that, but you heard what he was saying - couldn’t stand for that. I’m James Potter, by the way.”

“Peter Pettigrew,” Peter says, almost breathlessly, shoving out his hand for James to take.

Warily, the boy in the corner says, “Remus Lupin.”

“You Muggle-born?” James says amiably, sitting back down.

“Half-blood,” Remus replies. “My mum’s a Muggle.”

“Not that it matters, of course,” James says with a grin. 

“Are you Muggle-born?” Peter asks, desperately curious. He’s never met a Muggle-born his age before. He wonders if this boy has a - what did his dad call it? - a bicycle, or if he owns those things - records. _Wow._

James scrunches up his nose as if offended. “I said my name was _Potter_ ,” he says, like Peter is thick. “I’m pure-blood.”

“I thought it didn’t matter?” Remus says quietly, eyes on the page in front of him.

For the first time, James seems to falter. “Er, yeah. Right. It doesn’t. Was just - clarifying,” he says, swiping a hand through his already messy hair. He coughs, then asks, “What are you reading?”

Remus angles the book so they can see the front cover of _Hogwarts: A History_. Privately, Peter thinks there’s such a thing as being too keen, and reading books before term has even started is definitely on that list, but surprisingly, James perks up, starts babbling on about how his dad told him Hogwarts has loads of secret passageways and how he can’t wait to find them all, and Remus starts to look a bit more at ease the more James rambles on. Eventually, they’re having a full blown conversation about _floor plans_ , of all things, and Peter starts to feel decidedly put out, and stares out of the window at the countryside flashing past.

The door to the compartment slides open again as the sky outside becomes darker, and Peter looks up, hoping to see the trolley - he’s _starving_ \- but instead it’s a tall girl with the blondest hair Peter has ever seen and narrowed ice-blue eyes; they sweep the compartment and then land on each of them in turn. On the front of her robes, a silver _P_ gleams. Her tie, just about visible, is silver and green. 

“Have either of you seen a boy skulking about? First Year like you, probably in a snit somewhere trying to enchant the toilets.”

“Sounds like my kind of bloke,” James says.

The girl gives him a withering look. “If you run across a boy called Sirius, tell him Narcissa is looking for him. That’s an order, by the way - I’m a _Prefect_.” She pauses to give them all a look that says she will know if they harbor this boy, this apparent fugitive, and she will make them pay. Then, she stalks off, slamming the door behind her.

“Charming,” James comments, and then rummages about in his pockets, producing a pack of cards. “Exploding Snap, anyone?”

::

Narcissa Black rarely allows herself to get stressed - it causes far too many worry line - but today is a special case. Sirius’s first day at Hogwarts was always going to eventful, she’s been prepared for this for years, yet she didn’t think it would start so soon. 

She certainly didn’t think her own cousin would end up punching Lucius Malfoy in the face.

Why she even bothered inviting the little hoodlum to sit with them all is now beyond her. She’d been trying to do Sirius a favour, to introduce him to some respectable people, and this is how he repaid her, by giving the Head Boy a black eye before term had even started. Brilliant. That’s gratitude.

Now, all Narcissa has to do is find Sirius before Lucius does, because Sirius may be handy with his fists, but there’s no way he’d come off better in a duel, and Narcissa really is quite fond of Sirius for all his faults, and she really, really does not want to have to explain all this to Mother and Father. Imagine the Howlers. Imagine the scandal: _Black heir killed by Hogwarts Head Boy on train - Malfoy-Black nuptials called off due to family death caused by fiancé._

Narcissa quickens her step, yanking open another compartment door. The laughter inside abruptly stops as they all swivel their heads to look at her. Not only is Sirius there, in the middle of it all, lapping up the attention, but there’s also Andromeda and her usual rag-tag entourage of fellow Seventh Years.

“Cissy,” Andromeda begins, rising from her chair.

“Don’t you Cissy me!” Narcissa says, wand already out and pointing at Sirius. “Do you have any idea what he’s done this time?”

“Given Malfoy a right shiner by the sounds of things,” laughs Ted Tonks from beside Andromeda. 

Narcissa scowls at him. “Quiet, Tonks, or I’ll take points from Hufflepuff.”

“For thinking Malfoy deserved it? You’d have to take points from the whole bloody school,” Tonks drawls.

Laughter erupts in the carriage again. Narcissa feels her face flush. She hates being laughed at. Andromeda kicks Tonks in the shin, shushing him, and stands in front of her sister, blocking their cousin from view.

“Cissy, it’s not that bad. Lucius will just have a bit of a wounded ego, that’s all.”

“He needs to apologise,” Narcissa says, reaching around her sister and pointing a finger at Sirius. “He’s spoiling everything!”

“Like hell I do!” Sirius pipes up indignantly. “Cis, he was being a right c - idiot. The way he was talking about you, saying that one day you’d be his property, it’s - it’s not right.”

Narcissa sighs. Sirius is so easy to get to, and he always rises to the bait. If not for those cheekbones, one would have cause to wonder if her cousin really was a Black after all. 

“He was just joking around. Testing your mettle, Sirius. That’s his way. And anyway, it is true. We are to be married, once I leave Hogwarts.”

Sirius shudders, loudly and with great exaggeration. “He didn’t need to be such a creep about it.” He scowls darkly. “I don’t see why all my cousins have to marry such weirdos.”

“Maybe not all of them will,” Tonks suggests, and Andromeda kicks him again.

“Now Sirius,” Andromeda says quickly. “Rodolphus just takes a bit of getting used to. He’s family now, as Lucius will be, so maybe it’s best you do go apologise.”

Sirius turns red, and then practically purple with anger. Narcissa smiles smugly, pleased that Andromeda sided with her for once. Both the Black sisters escort Sirius, swearing and sulking, back up the train to where Lucius is. 

“Sirius has something to say,” Narcissa announces, propelling her cousin forward. 

Sirius scowls at her, at Andromeda, at the walls, at the world at large, and then manages, “Sorry I punched you,” from between gritted teeth.

Lucius’s pale eyes gleam momentarily, and then he laughs, shakes Sirius by the hand. “Apology accepted. Strong little thing, aren’t you? Next year, try out for the Quidditch team, won’t you? Slytherin could use a decent Beater.”

“Slytherin?” Sirius repeats insolently.

Lucius frowns, opens his mouth to say something, but Andromeda already has her hands on Sirius’s shoulders, leading him away from them. “Right, well, best leave you two to it - I’m sure you have centerpieces to pick out and all sorts. Glad this was all sorted out. See you at the Feast!” and she practically drags Sirius out of the door.

“Interesting boy, your cousin,” Lucius says slowly, when they’re alone in the compartment.

“He’s quite a dear when you get to know him, really. He’s just at a sensitive age. He comes out with some of the drollest things, and he’s bright for his age.”

“Bella speaks very highly of him. We’ll just have to teach him to reign that temper in.”

“Well of course he’ll come round, especially with you as Head Boy,” Narcissa says, pleased that no long-lasting damage appears to have happened. 

All she ever really wants is everyone to get along. After all, they are family. No matter how strong Bella comes on, how infuriating Drom can be, how shy little Reggie is and how explosive Sirius is, one thing has always been clear to Narcissa. Blood is blood, and blood is important, in every sense of the word. 

Family is all that matters.

::

That evening, when the Hat touches Sirius’s head, when it takes longer than usual - she can see his pale, slender fingers gripping the edge of the stool, can practically hear the Great Hall holding its breath - when it finally screams “GRYFFINDOR!” and Sirius stumbles away looking dazed and confused to sit at a table at the other end of the room from the rest of his family, Narcissa can’t bring herself to look at Lucius; instead she looks down at her hands, at the diamond ring on her finger, and concentrates very hard on not crying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I realise the ages of everyone don't quite match up to canon - in particular, I forgot that Lucius is technically a Prefect when the Marauders et al start school, and here I have him as Head Boy. My brain just might have exploded if I went back to wrestle with my timeline, however, so the ages are staying as they are. For the purists, I apologise.


	4. new beginnings.

_Early September 1971._

Marlene McKinnon hums jauntily to herself, arms full of food from the kitchens, maneuvering expertly through the portrait hole and into Gryffindor Tower without dropping anything. She’s in high spirits - back at Hogwarts, laden with goodies bestowed upon her by the ever eager house-elves, Quidditch try-outs tomorrow - but her mood is dampened somewhat when she sees the glum faces of Peter Pettigrew and Remus Lupin huddled together on the sofa.

Merlin, these firsties are a miserable bunch. What do eleven-year-olds have to be so sombre about? It’s only the third day of term - have they even had homework yet?

“What ho, chaps,” she says, dumping her stash on the nearest table. “Oh, and Evans,” she adds, noticing the redhead in the corner, who looks equally as moody. “Who spiked your pumpkin juice?”

“It’s Sirius,” Pettigrew says, casting a nervous glance at the boys’ staircase. “He’s locked himself in the dormitory again.”

“James went up there ten minutes ago,” Lupin tells her, and then, very seriously, “We think Sirius may have killed him.”

“Good grief. Pull yourself together, men,” Marlene commands. “You’re Gryffindors now. Tell Auntie Marlene the problem.”

“The problem,” Evans says, striding over, all indignation and fury and the blotchiness that comes with it, “is that Black is getting _insufferable_. He’s acting like a child, flinging curses at the walls and trying to get detention all the time. Then Potter has to go and act the hero, only now he’s probably made it worse; Black has probably blown the place up by now, hopefully taking Potter with him. At least then we could get some peace.”

Marlene cocks her head to the side, studying the younger girl. She’s a hard one to peg, this Lily Evans. First night here, Marlene had stumbled down into the common room in the early hours, intending to write her mum a letter, and found Lily in tears in front of the fireplace. When asked what was wrong, Lily had said she didn’t want to be a Gryffindor - apparently some First Year Slytherin she knew had told her all Gryffindors were arrogant, attention-seeking idiots with less common sense than a trowel. Marlene had tried to be consoling, telling Lily Slytherin’s were all the same and couldn’t be trusted, but oddly, it didn’t seem to help. 

There’s a loud bang from the First Year dormitory. Then again, Marlene thinks, maybe this Slytherin had a point. 

“Right, hold tight,” Marlene says, heading for the boys’ staircase and taking the steps two at a time, flinging the door open just as Sirius Black is slamming James Potter against the wall by his throat. “Woah - woah!” Marlene says, stepping in between the two and ripping Black away. 

Black’s eyes are flashing; Potter massages his throat, croaking out a weak ‘thanks’ in Marlene’s direction. Satisfied Potter isn’t about to die on her, she rounds on Black.

“You’re lucky I’m not a Prefect, Black.”

“Oh, go to hell, McKinnon; you’re only in Third Year anyway.”

“I still outrank you, bucko,” Marlene says, taking a step closer. She towers above him - helped, in part, by the thick biker boots she’d picked up in the summer at a Muggle market. “What’s all this about?”

Neither boy says a word.

“What is this about?” Marlene repeats patiently. “Or do I have to go and wake Kingsley?”

Potter twitches and glances quickly at Black. Black’s shoulders are squared, his jaw set, but then he flicks his hair out of his eyes in one fluid, irritable movement, and says, “Potter had a go at my family, if you must know.”

Marlene blinks. “Your - your family?”

“Yeah, the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. You may have heard of them,” he says sarcastically.

Everyone in the wizarding world knows of the Black’s, of course. Marlene’s seen the sisters in the hallways, pale and untouchable, but she’s never spoken to a Black before - not until Sirius here. And hadn’t that been a surprise, she thinks, when the Sorting Hat put him in Gryffindor instead of Slytherin. The poor lad looked like he was going to be sick, all shaky and pale (paler than usual Black standards, even), and he’s been a right unbearable little shit ever since. 

The morning after the Sorting, a Howler had found it’s way to young Sirius. Marlene had watched - the whole school had, it was hard not to - as Sirius was ripped into, the Howler screeching Walburga Black’s voice, ranting about _SHAME!_ and _RUIN OF THE FAMILY!_ and _NO SON OF MINE!_ It had gone on forever, until Sirius was shaking and red in the face with rage, and Dumbledore himself had come down from the staff table to put a Silencing Charm on the damn thing.

“All I _said_ ,” Potter is saying now, a bit of his usual swagger returning now that he’s not being choked to death, “is that they sound a right bunch of nutters and I wouldn’t care what they thought if I were you.”

“You’re not me!” Black growls.

“I’m just trying to make you feel better,” Potter says, holding his hands up.

“Don’t bother.”

Potter takes off his glasses and wipes them on the sleeve of his robes, pushes them back up the bridge of his nose, and looks squarely at Black. “You’re better than the whole lot of them,” he says evenly. “I just thought someone should tell you that, before you burnt down the dormitory and got yourself killed.”

Marlene smiles to herself, enjoying the spasm flitting across Black’s face as he struggles between scowling and smiling. Finally he says, gruffly, “Well. Right. Sorry about - about trying to choke you.”

“You couldn’t have taken me anyway,” Potter says affably, and Black grins back at him, hesitantly at first, until they both start to laugh.

Unnoticed, Marlene slips from the room and back down into the common room.

Lupin is the first to reach her. “Is Sirius all right?”

“They’re both fine,” Marlene says. “I’d wager you two can go back up without fearing for your lives now.”

Lupin’s smile is grateful as he and Pettigrew shuffle past and up the stairs. Marlene shakes her head. Gryffindor boys.

She slumps on to the sofa next to Evans. “So,” she says. “Still bothered about being one of us? I have to say, I feel quite protective of my House lately; I don’t think it’s ever had two students want to leave it so badly.”

“I don’t want to leave,” Evans says, staring into the fire, the flames illuminating the freckles on her nose. “I just don’t want to lose my friend.”

“If he’s any type of friend at all, you won’t,” Marlene says, hoping she sounds reassuring. 

Marlene hasn’t ever seen a Gryffindor-Slytherin friendship, but then again, three days ago, she never thought she’d see a Black wearing red and gold either. She closes her eyes, smiling, enjoying the warmth of the fire on her cheeks. It’s going to be a fun few years, she can feel it.


	5. family values.

_February 1972._

Andromeda is nearly out of the dungeon door when she hears a familiar cough from behind her. Letting out a small sigh, Andromeda turns around to see her younger sister stood in the middle of the common room, wearing a green nightgown and an extremely disapproving expression.

“Where are you going?” Narcissa asks, her lips pursing tightly together as her ice-blue eyes take in the thick cloak around Andromeda’s shoulders.

“Just out for a walk,” Andromeda says lightly. “Nothing for you to worry about; go back to bed.”

“It’s not ladylike to be prowling about the school at all hours of the night. I will take points from you if I have to.”

Andromeda nearly laughs, but stops herself just in time. She knows how much her sister loathes being laughed at, but _honestly_. Sometimes Narcissa is so naive. As if Andromeda cares about a little thing like points. 

“Go back to bed, Cis,” she repeats, and takes another step closer to the common room door.

“Stop it,” Narcissa says shrilly. “If you won’t listen to your own sister, then, I’ll - I’ll get Lucius!”

Andromeda rolls her eyes. Since going out with Lucius Malfoy, Narcissa has become increasingly annoying, using his status within the school and out as if it’s a shield to protect herself with. Andromeda thinks, cruelly, not for the first time, about bursting her little sister’s bubble by telling her that Mother and Father originally planned to wed _her_ to Malfoy. But then Andromeda looks at her sister’s defiant, haughty expression - the expression that makes Andromeda think back to their childhood, when she and Bella would tease Narcissa something awful to get a reaction (Narcissa was always dramatic) - and can’t bring herself to tell her sister that she was the _second_ choice, after Andromeda had firmly told her parents there was a better chance of her marrying Slughorn.

“I’m not afraid of Lucius, Cissy. I think I’m a little bit too old for you to threaten me with tattling to your boyfriend.”

“My boyfriend or not, he’s still Head Boy,” Narcissa says stubbornly. “Rules are rules. I’m not letting you leave this room.”

Andromeda sighs sadly, withdrawing her wand from up the sleeve of her jumper. “Please, Cis, I’d hate to have to jinx a member of my own family.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Narcissa says with uncharacteristic forcefulness, going for her own wand. “I’m not a child anymore.”

Andromeda blinks coolly. “Nor am I, and where I go in the middle of the night is none of your concern.”

“I _know_ where you go in the middle of the night,” Narcissa hisses. “You’re not as clever as you think you are, sister. I know all about that Muggle you’ve been seeing.”

Andromeda’s grip on her wand lessens for a fraction of a second as she falters, caught off-guard; Narcissa, lightning quick, yells, “ _Expelliarmus!_ ” and catches Andromeda’s wand as it flies effortlessly out of her hand.

“Narcissa, don’t be a fool,” Andromeda says quietly.

“I don’t think I’m the foolish one here. You’re risking everything for - for him?”

Andromeda thinks of Ted, of his sandy-coloured hair that turns gold when the light touches it just so; his lazy smiles and the easy warmth that radiates from him like a perpetual sun. That’s Ted’s manner, a naturally cheery person; he doesn’t expect anything from her. He doesn’t expect her to be a Black, or a Slytherin, or judge her on her blood or which table she sits at in the Great Hall, just because a stupid hat said so. Ted just lets her _be_ , and she loves him for it, she really does.

“Cissy, just listen -”

“No,” Narcissa says, sounding like she’s on the verge of tears. “I can’t believe you. What will Mother and Father say?”

“They’re not going to know,” Andromeda says sharply. “Not yet, anyway, and certainly not from you.”

Narcissa gives a short, cruel laugh. “They’ll be furious when they find out you’ve been sleeping with a Mudblood -”

Andromeda’s slap catches Narcissa right across the cheek, turning one half of her face a brilliant red, a sharp contrast to her pale complexion. Narcissa brings one well-manicured hand up to touch the spot her sister struck her, and she lets out a low hiss like a cat. 

“Don’t you ever use that word in front of me again,” Andromeda says calmly, although her hands are shaking. She’s never hit her sister before.

Narcissa looks up at her, pale eyes narrowed and accusatory, but Andromeda refuses to feel sorry for her. She takes a step closer to Narcissa, pulls her wand from her sister’s grasp, and exits the common room at last without a second glance.

::

Ted’s brown eyes are full of concern when she finally meets him at they’re spot, behind the greenhouses.

“You’re late,” he says as she approaches him. “I was getting worried, I thought that -”

“Cissy knows,” Andromeda says without preamble. 

“Ah.” Ted runs a hand through his hair, gives her a sideways look. “Well, that’s - bugger. She might not say anything, right? She is your sister.”

Such an optimist, Andromeda thinks fondly. Such a Hufflepuff. 

She shrugs her shoulders, fumbles in her robes until she finds a packet of cigarettes and lights one hastily with the yellow lighter Ted gave her in Fifth Year, when they’d started dating. She’d thought it a weird trinket at first, a lot of fumbling and hassle when one could simply use magic to light the damn thing, but now she’s never without it. Even if she stopped smoking - something Andromeda tells herself she’ll do every year - she thinks she’d still keep the lighter; Ted said he found it in a Muggle shop one day and had to buy it because it had the Hufflepuff colours. It makes Andromeda smile to think she’s giving a silent _fuck you_ to her parents, to their anti-Muggle and Slytherin supremacy bullshit, every time she lights up.

“I don’t know what she’ll say,” Andromeda says truthfully. “She’s my sister, yes - sadly, that also means she’s a Black.”

“And we all know how unpredictable you Black women are,” Ted says seriously, moving to stand behind her, locking his arms around her waist. 

He bends his head to her neck, nuzzling her cloak away so that he can kiss her on the shoulder. Andromeda murmurs a vague protest, but she arches back into him anyway.

“This is a very serious matter,” she says faintly, as his lips move against the sensitive skin on her neck; he bites down briefly on her pulse-point, making her gasp. Her eyes flutter closed, but she can feel him smiling.

“Very serious,” he agrees. “You know, you could just make this terribly simple for yourself.”

“What do you suggest,” Andromeda murmurs; she’s finding it hard to concentrate on the conversation, what with the way one of Ted’s hands is currently working it’s way up her thigh, “that I just run away with you?”

She means it as a joke, but Ted’s hand stills; she opens her eyes and he turns her around in his arms so that they’re face to face, looks at her unflinchingly. In the moonlight, his eyes are very dark, and deadly serious. He hasn’t said anything, but Andromeda realises his silence is a question.

She doesn’t have to think about it for very long: “Yes. Yes, all right then.”


	6. the flight of andromeda black.

_July 1972._

Even from his bedroom on the third floor, Sirius can hear his mother screaming. Every now and then she shouts a curse and an object will explode, shaking the walls of Grimmauld Place, but mostly it’s just the usual floods and wailing and histrionics of Mummy Dearest.

It’s been an hour since Uncle Cygnus came, with Bellatrix and that dolt of a husband of hers, to tell them the news. They’d got an owl from Andromeda that morning; she’s not coming home, ever.

Sirius feels sick every time he thinks of it. He’d tried not to show much emotion as Uncle Cygnus used words like “blood-traitor” and “Muggle-lover” to describe his own daughter, the coldness of his eyes and the detached way he’d said it, as if it wasn’t his own flesh and blood he was talking about. Bellatrix’s eyes were dark and hollow-looking; she hadn’t even glanced at Sirius, or any of them, or shown any sign she was even listening at all. Rodolphus had just stood there, gormless and very tall, nodding along to everything Uncle Cygnus said, confirming details. Andromeda had run away with Ted Tonks, a Muggle-born boy Sirius remembers from school. Sirius had liked him. Sirius had just never imagined his favourite cousin running away with him.

Sirius had inquired after Narcissa - it was the only thing he could think to say - and Uncle Cygnus said she was at home tending to Aunt Druella. Sirius imagined Cissy making endless cups of tea whilst Aunt Druella sat in her room with the curtains closed.

Mother has taken the news pretty badly too. The floor shakes as another blast sounds through the house. _There goes the chandelier._

The door opens and Regulus pokes his head in. His eyes are wide, his expression terrified; he glances wordlessly at Sirius, who nods and gestures for Reg to join him on the bed. Regulus clambers up, smiling shakily.

“Thanks,” he whispers. “That last spell nearly came through my wall.”

“She’ll calm down soon,” Sirius says. “You know she always does.”

It’s true; in perhaps half an hour Mother will grow bored with making things explode and collapse on the floor, and Kreacher will take her to bed, and hopefully that will be the last they see of her for a day or so. This is usually how Mother’s hysterics go.

“Where’s Father?” Sirius asks, aiming for casual conversation.

Regulus is chewing at his bottom lip. He shrugs his skinny shoulders. “Gone out on urgent business, he said. With Rodolphus and Bella.” Regulus hesitates, and then asks, “Do you think they’ve gone to get Dromeda back?”

Sirius feels a chill run through him. He hopes, for Andromeda’s sake, they haven’t. Bella isn’t one to take insults lightly, and this - leaving them all, and for a Muggle-born - she’ll view as the biggest slight of them all. Bella is very possessive of her family. Sirius glances up at the ceiling, wishing he knew what Dromeda’s plan was. _I hope you know what you’re doing, cousin._

“Don’t worry about it, Reggie,” Sirius says, with more confidence than he feels. “Things will turn out all right.”

“But why did she do it?” Regulus asks. He sounds so confused, so - so abandoned. Sirius fights the sudden urge to give him a hug. “We’re her family.”

“Sometimes, people have to choose their own family,” Sirius says slowly, thinking of James’s lazy grins, Pete’s cackling laugh, Remus’s furrowed brow. 

“That’s stupid,” Regulus declares. “You’ll always be the family I choose.”

Sirius grins, ruffling his little brother’s hair. “Well, of course. I’m the best.”

“Even if you are a Gryffindor,” Regulus adds, and Sirius feels his heart clench. 

“Hey, you haven’t even been Sorted yet.”

“I won’t be a Gryffindor,” Regulus says hotly.

Sirius regards his brother closely, marvelling, not for the first time, at how alike they look. The same thick dark hair, eyes the same shade of grey, the prominent Black cheekbones. It’s like looking in a mirror at his slightly younger self. 

Sirius thinks of the Howler he received when he was Sorted, of his Mother’s cold expression when he came home for summer holidays two weeks ago, of Father’s curt nod. He thinks of how neither of his parents have asked about his friends, or offered to host them for the holidays. Sirius hopes, fervently, that his little brother is right, that this will be where they differ, that Regulus will be the perfect son they crave.

“Maybe a Hufflepuff,” he says teasingly, and Regulus scowls and throws a pillow at him. 

::

Two weeks later, a letter arrives addressed to Sirius from an owl he doesn’t recognise; he’s just reaching for it when Walburga aims her wand at the poor bird, shooting red sparks at it. It flaps away in indignation, its tail feathers slightly singed, and Walburga grabs the letter from the floor before Sirius can get there in time.

His mother reads the letter, her lip curling. Then, abruptly, she throws it in the fire.

“Hey!” Sirius shouts. “That was mine!”

Orion shoots him a warning look. “Don’t raise your voice to your mother, Sirius.”

Sirius, slouching low in his seat, watches as the parchment is swallowed by the flames. 

The next day, his aunt, uncle and cousins visit. While Druella and Walburga have tea and Orion and Cygnus retreat into the drawing room with Regulus tagging along, playing rapt attention to every word spoken, Bellatrix grabs Sirius by the sleeve and Narcissa murmurs, “Can we have a word, cousin?”

They walk through the gardens, Narcissa’s hair tousling gently in the wind, Bellatrix’s streaming out behind her as she strides along. Narcissa turns towards him, a sad expression on her face, and says, “I assume you got one too?”

“One what?”

“A letter. From Andromeda.”

“That was from Andromeda?” Sirius yelps. “I never read it - Mother threw it in the fire.”

“Father did the same with ours.” Narcissa sighs, looking very tired and old beyond her seventeen years. “It was a wedding invitation, Sirius. Andromeda is to marry Ted Tonks today.”

“Today?” Sirius glances back up at the house, and then back to his cousins. “Well, do you have the address - they’re all busy - we could use the fireplace in my room -”

“Don’t be idiotic, Sirius,” Bella snaps. “We’re not going. If Andromeda wants to disgrace the family, then on her own head be it. We, however, must remain sensible.”

“Think of our family,” Narcissa says, although Sirius notices she looks torn. “Our duty.”

“If you’re not going to go, then why tell me?” Sirius asks, scowling.

“You have a right to know,” Bella says. “I don’t believe in secrets. You should know what Andromeda is.”

“And what’s that?” Sirius asks, voice low and angry.

“A blood-traitor,” Bella says simply. “She has betrayed us all, Sirius; you shouldn’t feel for her. The time is coming, dear cousin, to choose a side, and I pray you won’t choose the wrong one.”

“Well, hey, I’m a Gryffindor, remember,” Sirius says with a ragged laugh. “Think I’m already on the wrong side, don’t you?”

“This is more than a silly school rivalry,” Bella says, her eyes shining. Sirius glances at Narcissa, who has clasped her hands together and is squeezing tight; she looks like she’s praying. “Your tie may be red and gold, but your heart, your blood - you’re a Black, Sirius. Remember that.”

::

Sirius brings up the wedding that evening, when he’s feeling irritable and volatile, the days events and the conversation in the garden flashing through his mind. He tells his mother he might have wanted to go; “you know, I might have met some charming Muggle girl, you know how people meet at weddings.”

Walburga slaps him with such force that he staggers back into the wall, hitting the family tapestry that hangs there. His mother doesn’t say another word, merely sweeps up the staircase, her dress rustling behind her. Sirius can feel a drop of blood running down his cheek where she’d caught him with her ring, right below his eye; he wipes it away roughly, scowling at the tapestry, and then halts, looks closer.

Positioned in between Bellatrix and Narcissa is a small, round hole, scorched around the edges, where Andromeda’s name used to be.

Sirius clenches his fist until it hurts, and then heads up to bed.


	7. brotherhood.

_September 1972._

Regulus Black feels as if he’s about to throw up.

He’s hardly slept and couldn’t eat a thing at breakfast even though Kreacher prepared his favourite in honour of his coming to Hogwarts; his stomach keeps squirming unpleasantly every time he thinks about the Sorting that awaits him.

Now he’s stood on the platform, Mother and Father in their best robes and Sirius lounging against the wall with his hair in his eyes and looking like some sort of filthy Muggle vagabond. He keeps glancing over at a group of three other boys, and then back at Regulus impatiently, as if silently imploring he’d hurry up, but Regulus doesn’t know what his brother expects him to do. Mother has gripped Regulus firmly by the shoulders and is giving him a speech about upholding the family honour, that they don’t need any more embarrassment (at this, Sirius yawns loudly and obviously), and Regulus can’t think of how to get away.

Finally Sirius intervenes, looping an arm around Regulus’s neck and dragging him away from Mother towards the train. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure your littlest Black does not follow me down the road of dishonour and disrepute. Goodness me, look at the time. Must dash. Farewell, Mother, Father. Thank you for hosting me this summer. It’s been a blast.”

Mother makes as if to move forward, but Father’s hand on her shoulder restrains her and she merely stands, glaring at Sirius as he holds the carriage door open for Regulus and then climbs on after him.

“Just look after Regulus,” Father calls firmly. “And do try to be behave yourself.”

Sirius holds a hand up, either a goodbye or a dismissal, Regulus isn’t sure. Before the train has even started to move, Mother and Father have disapparated.

“I do wish you wouldn’t wind her up like that,” Regulus says miserably, as Sirius stores their cases away. 

Sirius just grins at him, and opens his mouth to say something, but then sees something over Regulus’s shoulder. His smile, if possible, gets wider. Sirius shouts, “Oi, over here!” and Regulus turns in time to see a boy with glasses descend on his brother with a whoop of delight.

“All right, Black!” the boy says, ruffling Sirius’s hair, and Regulus realises that this has to be James Potter. “Is it the high society fashion to not cut ones hair?”

“Sod off,” Sirius says affectionately, and then, as two other boys come forward, “Wotcher, Pete - hey, Remus! How was your summer?”

“Considerably better than yours, I’d say,” the boy Sirius had called Remus says with a wry smile, and then he catches sight of Regulus standing slightly behind Sirius. “Oh, terribly sorry - you must be Sirius’s brother.”

Regulus’s manners, under normal circumstances immaculate, haven’t yet kicked in; he stares at Remus’s proffered hand as if it’s a foreign artifact. He’s heard Sirius talk about his friends, of course, but seeing them in the flesh is oddly uncomfortable in ways eleven-year-old Regulus cannot fathom. Remus withdraws his hand with a small cough when Regulus fails to take it; he shoots Sirius a questioning look.

“This is Reggie all right,” Sirius says, still grinning. “Reg, this is James Potter, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew.”

His brother’s loud voice jolts Regulus out of his reverie. 

“Terribly pleased to meet you all,” he says automatically. And then, before he can stop himself, “Are you all Gryffindors then?”

Sirius laughs easily. “Forgive him, boys. Hasn’t ever met another lion besides me. Probably thinks we all bite, bless ‘im.”

“You do bite, you nutter,” Potter says, nudging Sirius with his elbow.

Regulus doesn’t like this: the way Sirius has puffed up like a peacock, the way he’d called himself a lion without an ounce of shame, the way Lupin is looking at Regulus as though he’s touched in the head, the way Pettigrew is shooting him curious looks like he’s on display, and the way James Potter is touching Sirius in a way that’s almost _brotherly_ \- 

Regulus wants to hit something.

“Come on, Reg, you can come sit with us,” Sirius offers.

Regulus stays where he is as the other boys move off down the carriage to find a compartment. 

“No, thank you,” he says. Sirius frowns, and he continues, “I don’t belong with them, Sirius.” He swallows the urge to say _and neither do you_. “They’re - they’re your friends. I’ll find somewhere else to sit.”

Sirius hesitates, but only for a second. 

“If you’re sure, then. See you later tonight!” 

He runs up the carriage to join his friends. Regulus watches as he squeezes in between them, brushing shoulders with Lupin. Potter says something, and they all laugh. Sirius’s laugh is the loudest of the four; as Regulus turns and walks in the opposite direction, it seems to follow him all the way.

::

_My dear Regulus,_

_Congratulations on making Slytherin. Dolph and I went to Grimmauld for lunch yesterday, and your parents were simply bursting with pride when they told us. Not that we ever had reason to doubt you, but these are troubling times, so the news was a relief for me and of course your dear mother. Poor thing, she’s had so much to deal with, you are a comfort to her._

_I hear the Wilkes and Rosier boys are in your year. Be sure to make friends with them Reg, they’re a good sort. I hope that Cissy looks after you, and that our Sirius isn’t being too Gryffindor._

_Do owl me often. I long to hear your Slytherin exploits - oh, to be young again!_

_Your cousin,  
Bella_


	8. the duel (part one).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius is feeling restless and tetchy during another one of Remus' disappearances; unfortunately, running into Severus Snape does not improve his mood.

_October 1972._

“Do you think Remus is all right?” Sirius asks one night, when it’s just him and James in the dormitory. 

Peter had gone and got detention because McGonagall caught him checking James’s homework for answers, and Remus is - well. That’s the issue. They don’t know where Remus is, only that he’d said he wasn’t feeling well at breakfast, and had continued to look progressively worse throughout the day, until finally he’d just disappeared after dinner. 

James and Sirius had, first of all, gone to the Hospital Wing. A harassed looking Madam Pomfrey had barred the way, said that Remus was in no state to receive visitors, he really wasn’t well. James had been content to leave it at that - the poor bloke must be in a bad way if they don’t even let them in to see him, and James has Quidditch try-outs soon, he can’t afford to catch anything - but Sirius has been restless ever since, and simply will not let it go.

“I’m sure he’s fine, Sirius,” James says again, not bothering to pull back the curtains of his bed to look at his best friend; he knows without looking that Sirius will have that intense moping expression on his face. “He’s always ill, isn’t he, Remus. Maybe it’s to do with being half-blood,” he says thoughtfully. “I mean, you and I never get as ill as he does, maybe they have a weak immune system. I’ve not been around many to know.”

“Peter’s not a Pureblood, and he’s never as ill as Remus, or so often.”

“Well, his whole family seems a bit sickly to me! He’s always having to go and visit his mum.”

“Hm,” Sirius says.

He sounds like he’s giving this some serious thought, which is rarely a good thing unless it involves dumgbombs and pranking old Snivellus. James sits up suddenly, flings back the curtain to find Sirius lying stomach-down on his own bed, scowling fiercely at the dormitory door as though he’s about to do it serious damage if it does not produce one Remus Lupin immediately.

“What are you saying then?” James says irritably, not sure where Sirius is going with this. He’d much rather be doing something else, like devising plans for pranking or nicking some food from the kitchens, but with Sirius in this sort of mood it’s hard to get him to do anything.

“I’m not sure. I just don’t like it.”

“Well, why don’t you just ask him what’s wrong?” James asks with great exasperation. 

Sirius flicks him a withering look, and James has to concede he has a valid (if unspoken) point. Remus is a quiet sort, and doesn’t seem to like questions. 

Sometimes, James Potter thinks his best friends are truly maddening. He longs suddenly for Peter. Simple, uncomplicated Peter. 

“I’m going to the kitchens,” he says, jumping up from the bed and hunting for his dressing gown. “You can either come along, and rearrange your face into something a bit more pleasant, or you can sulk alone up here because Remus is _feeling poorly_. Choice is yours.”

James starts towards the door, and seconds later hears Sirius scramble and clatter about in his haste to come with him. James grins to himself; he knew Sirius would come. Sulky sod he may be, but Sirius Black rarely refuses the offer of food. In fact, he’s perked up considerably, talking happily about bacon sandwiches, when they arrive at the entrance to the kitchens and stop dead, seeing something that wipes the smiles off both their faces.

Lily Evans and Severus Snape are coming out of the kitchens, their pockets overflowing and both laughing, until they see Sirius and James.

There is a moment that follows that James would have thought comical had he not been in it, in which all four students stand stupidly and look at one another, James and Sirius on one side, Lily and Snape on the other. 

“What are you doing here?” James blurts out finally.

He knows that Lily and Snape are acquaintances, sort of - well, he knows that Snape helps her out in Potions sometimes, and apparently they live in the same Muggle town, and Lily is kind to him - but then Lily is kind of everyone, and anyway, it’s not the sort of thing James likes to see, especially when it’s sprung upon him all of a sudden. All of a sudden James doesn't feel very hungry.

“Same thing you’re doing, I should think,” Lily mutters, looking distinctly put-out at being caught flouting school rules, especially by James and Sirius. Beneath his disgust at having to look at Lily so close to Snape, James is actually impressed that Lily is out of bed at this hour and wandering the castle. 

“Don’t look so shocked, Potter,” Snape says lazily. “What, you thought you and Black were the only ones clever enough to figure out where the kitchens were? Please, I found it on my second day.”

“Yeah, you’d need to, wouldn’t you, considering you probably don’t even get fed at home,” Sirius says viciously.

“And we’re more shocked at the fact that a respectable young Gryffindor is hanging around with a slithering little snake like you, Snape. Enchantment, is it, so that she can’t see the grease?”

“Don’t be silly, James; she obviously just feels sorry for him.”

Snape whips out his wand with a cry of, “ _Stupe -!_ ” but Lily yanks his arm down.

“Severus, don’t!”

Sirius grins cockily. “Yeah, be a good boy, Snivelly. Listen to Evans. Good thing she’s here to keep you out of trouble.”

His cheeks an unattractive, mottled reddish colour, Snape jerks his arm away from Lily’s grasp and glares death at Sirius and James. “I’m not afraid of the likes of you, Black.”

“Then why don’t you show us what you’re made of?” Sirius says, sauntering closer to Snape, twirling his wand casually in his hand. “I challenge you to a duel, Snape. Tomorrow night, 9pm - shall we say on top of the Astronomy Tower?”

“Oh, for goodness sake,” Lily says. “You think you’re so big, don’t you, Black - and you, Potter - both of you are nothing but giant bullies! Come on, Sev, let’s go.”

Lily pushes in between them both, and after a moments hesitation Snape follows behind her, until Sirius calls after him.

“Yeah, go on _Sev_. Better do what Evans says, after all.”

“Sirius,” James mutters to him, because Lily has whipped around and turned an amazing scarlet colour, her green eyes narrowed dangerously, and James has a feeling this isn’t going to end well for either of them. He doesn’t give a damn about Snivelly, but Lily is all right, and the way she’s looking at him like he’s a toad makes James feel weird all over. 

Sirius’s eyes are glinting though, and James knows that look, knows that Sirius won’t listen to him when James tries to talk sense and reason to him. 

Snape turns around, straightening his spindly shoulders. It does absolutely nothing to make him look in any way intimidating. “All right, Black, have it your way,” he snarls. 

“Severus, you can’t be serious!” Lily says. “Don’t let them talk you into something so stupid.” Snape doesn’t say anything in reply, and after a moment Lily throws her hands up and stalks off down the hallway, muttering about _boys_.

Snape doesn’t even blink, just focuses his dark eyes on Sirius. “I take it Potter is your second?” 

“Of course,” Sirius says. “Who’s yours?”

Snape curls his lip. “Regulus Black,” he says smoothly, and James has a split-second in which to throw his arm out and catch his best friend around the middle before Sirius launches himself at Snape. 

Snape takes a few steps back, but that smarmy, thin-lipped smile stays put. “What’s the matter, Black?” he asks, his pupils dilated; James realises this is probably one of the only times he’s seen Severus Snape look happy - the sight makes him feel ill. “Changed your mind?”

“You - slimy - bloody - wanker,” Sirius pants, struggling against James to get to Snape. 

James gathers all his strength and heaves Sirius backwards a few steps, and quickly stands in front of him, arms out. “Sirius, mate - he’s not worth it. He’s pathetic. Just leave it, yeah?”

“You stay the hell away from my brother!” Sirius shouts. 

James Potter is tired. All he wanted was some food, and somehow even that has gone wrong; his best friend is an idiot who is far too easy to get to, his other best friends aren’t here to help keep him under control, Lily Evans thinks he’s a bully and Severus Snape is possibly the most disgusting creature James has met. James knows that all of this, all of his problems, are somehow Snape’s fault. He has half a mind to let Sirius hex the git until he can’t walk, but then he knows Sirius will get detention into next year, and James would miss him. No, the best thing to do here - the _Gryffindor_ thing to do - would be to be the bigger person, and walk away. 

Then, Snape laughs.

James wheels around and punches him, right on his stupid overlarge nose. 

Snape falls to the floor with an over-dramatic howl, his hands covering his face, but James can still see a satisfying amount of blood from between the gaps in his fingers.

“You hit him!” Sirius says, sounding delighted. He laughs, and then grabs James by the shoulder, moving him backwards. “Come on, let’s get out of here before Filch finds us. I can’t believe you _hit_ him!” He beams at James, an odd mixture of pride and jealousy on his face, and then begins to sprint back to Gryffindor Tower.

When they both get back to the common room, ignoring the Fat Lady’s raised eyebrows, and up into their dormitory, Peter is back, sat cross-legged on his bed.

“Where have you two been?” he asks immediately. 

“Oh, Potter here has just been involved in a common _brawl_ ,” Sirius says happily, launching himself on to his bed and bouncing on the mattress twice before settling down. “Who would have guessed such an honourable Gryffindor fought dirty?”

Peter’s blue eyes are round. “Oh,” he whines. “I miss _everything_!”

::

The sun has not yet risen when James is woken up by Sirius sitting on top of him.

“Ah!” James yelps, struggling to sit upright with the weight of the other boy crushing his legs. “Get off - Sirius, what are you _doing?_ ”

“Do you think they’re really friends?” Sirius asks as James fumbles for his glasses. He hastily shoves them on and Sirius comes into view, shadowy in the dark of the room, but with a definite slouch to his shoulders. “Snape and my brother,” he clarifies, when James fails to say anything. “You don’t reckon they’re really mates, do you?”

“I think,” James says slowly, “that Snape is an evil little weed who would say anything to piss you off.”

“Yeah,” Sirius says, but he sounds unconvinced.

“Only idiots would be friends with Snivellus,” James insists, and thinks for a moment, guiltily, of Lily. “Come on, Sirius, you’re not really bothered by this, are you?”

“Yes. No. I mean - I said I’d look out for him. He’s my little brother, and I haven’t even really seen him since school started.”

“Well, it’s difficult, you being in different Houses,” James says.

Sirius nods. “Yeah, that must be it.”

Something about his tone still sounds off, so James asks, “So, you still planning on dueling tomorrow?” hoping that the thought of jinxing Snape will cheer Sirius up.

“’Course I am,” Sirius says. “Hopefully when I beat him, that’ll show Reg that Snape’s not worth his time. Plus,” he adds, “I plan on fighting him with actual magic and skill, and not just brute strength.” He grins down at James, looking a bit more perky, and pinches his cheeks. “Barbarian,” he says fondly.

James rolls his eyes. “You’re just jealous you didn’t get the first punch. You looked like you were about to wet yourself with excitement when you saw the blood.”

“Oh, the blood,” Sirius says, closing his eyes blissfully. “I wish we’d thought to take a camera, to capture the beauty of the moment.”

James laughs. “You’re welcome, by the way. Where would you be without me defending your honour?”

“My knight in shining armour.”

“You prat. Now get off me; I can’t feel my legs.”

“Anything for my hero.”

“Idiot.”


	9. the duel (part two).

The next morning, Sirius is halfway through his porridge when Remus appears at the Gryffindor table. He takes the seat opposite Sirius, next to Peter, and engrosses himself in his choice of jam selection, carefully avoiding the looks his three friends are giving him.

Finally, Sirius kicks him under the table until Remus looks up with the threat of a glare on his face. Sirius, ignoring the warning signs on his friend’s expression, demands, “Where the hell have you been?”

“Hospital Wing,” Remus says quietly, dropping his gaze back to his toast. 

Sirius opens his mouth to press for more information, to demand that Remus explain exactly what was wrong with him because this is weird, but James nudges him sharply in the ribs and gives him a look that clearly says, _let it go_. Sirius huffs, annoyed, and digs his spoon into his porridge with more force than is entirely necessary.

Sirius hates not knowing stuff, and he knows that there’s something going on. There’s a definite slump to Remus’ shoulders this morning; he looks peaky, his face drawn and tight, dark circles under his eyes. Remus looks up again, meeting Sirius’ gaze for a fraction of a second before hurriedly looking away again, and Sirius feels his irritation grow. Sirius dislikes secrets, especially between friends, and beneath this annoyance is another feeling, strange and protective; he feels it nudging him in the stomach every time he looks at Remus’ tired eyes.

To distract himself from the temptation of upending his porridge over Remus’ head, Sirius glances around the Great Hall until he spots Snape at the Slytherin table. The greasy git has his nose (now sadly fixed) buried in the _Prophet_. Sirius is pleased to note that Regulus is sat nowhere near him, at the other end of the table near Narcissa. He watches his brother for a time: Reg is in between two other boys Sirius recognises from his parents’ annual Pureblood functions that they used to drag their sons along to in the hopes of them forging “respectable friendships”. Rosier and Wilkes, Sirius remembers suddenly. Nasty little buggers.

“You’re not worried about Snape, are you, Sirius?” Peter asks loudly, noticing Sirius’ glaring in the direction of the Slytherin table. “You can take him, you know.”

Peter is at too difficult an angle to kick, so Sirius settles for aiming his scowl at him instead. Peter recoils, face dropping, but Remus says, “Snape? What about him?”

“It’s nothing,” Sirius mutters.

“What did Peter mean by ‘you can take him’? Sirius, please tell me you haven’t done anything stupid.” Remus’ tone is despairing, as though he has already long ago accepted that of course Sirius has done something stupid.

“James was the one that punched him!” Sirius says, determined that if he goes down, his best friend is going with him.

“Cheers for that,” James says grimly. Then, to Remus, “It’s nothing to worry about, Remus. Sirius challenged Snape to a duel. That’s all.”

“That’s all?” Remus repeats. “Oh, well, thank goodness for that, for a minute I thought you’d done agreed to something dangerous and against school rules. You’re not seriously going to do it, are you, Sirius?”

“Of course he is,” James says at once, and Sirius gives him a grateful look. “Remus, you weren’t there. Snape was being a prat. It’s not that dangerous, really - what’s Snape going to do? He’s just a Second Year.”

“Sirius is a Second Year too,” Remus says, looking at him, “and I’m guessing you know a thing or two not covered in _The Standard Book of Spells_?”

“Well, yeah. Part and parcel of being in my family, to be honest, but come on, Remus - you’re overreacting.”

“It could just be a trap,” Peter says, shoving another slice of toast in his mouth. “I bet Snape would love to get you and James into trouble, especially after last night.”

“Exactly!” Remus says. “Thank you, Peter.” He looks at Sirius as if this settles the matter.

Sirius stands up from the table with a dark look on his face. “Well, you don’t have to have anything to do with it if you don’t want. If you care so much about Snape’s feelings.”

“Sirius, that’s not fair,” Remus tries.

“It’s fine. Pretend you don’t know anything about it if it makes it easier on your conscience; do whatever. I’ll see you in Charms.”

Sirius looks expectantly at James, who gets the hint that he’s being summoned and hastily finishes the last of his bacon before getting to his feet, throwing an apologetic look at Peter and Remus. Together, James and Sirius walk through the Great Hall, Sirius trying to ignore the apprehensive looks James keeps giving him. 

“Are you all right, mate?” James asks. “You seem a bit…tense.”

“I’m fine,” Sirius snaps. 

He glances back at the crowd of seated students; at Regulus, nodding along to something Narcissa is saying, a bored look on his face; and then to Remus, who is staring at his plate with an expression that Sirius recognises as the look Remus gets whenever a teacher has asked a particularly hard question. Even from this distance, Sirius can make out his puzzled frown, his mouth a quavery line.

Sirius _really_ can’t wait to hex Snape tonight.

::

Sirius’ day does not improve. In Charms he misses his aim completely while tyring to levitate his kettle; James’ glasses fly off his nose with incredible speed and smack into the opposite wall, pinging Professor Flitwick on the ear on the way by for good measure. Before Sirius can defend himself and insist that this was not a prank, thank you very much, both Flitwick and James are glaring at him, the former docking him three points and the latter kicking him in the shin. The injustice of it all stings: why do people always think he’s _guilty?_

Remus and James, the traitors, won’t speak to him in Herbology, leaving him to pair up with Peter, who is arse with plants at the best of times but they’re studying mandrakes, and Peter is doubly arse at plants with teeth. He cowers behind Sirius, offering suggestions from a safe distance. Sirius looks up, catches Remus’ gaze, and Remus gives him one of his pointed _I’m-not-talking-to-you-because-you’ve-hurt-my-feelings_ looks. It is not a look Sirius cares for. His annoyance renewed, Sirius forgets what he’s supposed to be doing, and his mandrake takes the opportunity to sink its fangs into his wrist. 

The upside is that James finds it hilarious, especially when Sirius tries to free himself by whacking the mandrake repeatedly on the bench, and talks to him afterwards. Remus, however, remains stony-faced all throughout the day and disappears after dinner, not even staying for pudding.

“Who twisted his knickers?” Sirius demands, watching Remus’ retreating back and helping himself to some trifle.

“You know how to gets about Rules,” Peter says wisely. 

James nods. “He gets all conflicted, you can see it in his eyes. Poor thing. Sometimes I wonder about him.”

Remus is either asleep, or pretending to be, when Sirius and James get ready for their meeting with Snape. Peter whispers “good luck” as they leave, but Sirius thinks the snores coming from Remus’ bed sound decidedly fake. They creep down the staircase; the common room appears surprisingly empty, but Sirius thinks little of it, thinking that he’s due a bit of good luck after the days events. 

“Good evening, gentlemen.”

Sirius feels James freeze beside him. They turn in perfect unison to see Minerva McGonagall sat in the comfiest armchair, her hands folded neatly together in her lap, eyes boring into them both over the rims of her spectacles. 

_Oh, bugger._

“Professor,” James says in his most pleasant voice, recovering quickly. “My, what a surprise. I didn’t think to see you here.”

“We are together in that thought, Potter, although I regret to say I am not completely surprised. Do you care to tell me where you and Mr Black are going at this hour?”

She knows, Sirius thinks. Somehow, McGonagall always seems to know. He twitches, shooting James a sideways look. Beside him, James is looking equally as shifty. They’re both familiar with McGonagall and her all-seeing eyes by now, and Sirius knows when he’s in a trap. Lie, and risk more trouble, or tell the truth and suffer the inevitable weeks’ worth of detentions? The choices aren’t great.

Sirius opts for avoiding the question altogether. “Who told you? I bet it was Remus, wasn’t it?” 

McGonagall gets to her feet at a leisurely pace, like a cat uncurling itself. “I assure you, Mr Black, my spies are legion, but you’re wrong to blame Mr Lupin. Who told me is not relevent.” She stares down unflinchingly at the both of them. Sirius tries to hold her gaze; James is already looking at his feet. “Now, I think fifteen points each from Gryffindor for your actions. Dueling, as you know, is not tolerated at Hogwarts, nor is being out after curfew.” Sirius opens his mouth to protest, but MGonagall says, “Be thankful it is not more, Mr Black, and that I got here in time. I would like to win the House Cup this year, you know. Now, Mr Potter, if you could return to your bed, please. I would like a private word with Mr Black.”

James hesitates, giving Sirius a wide-eyed look. Under McGonagall’s gaze though he has no choice but to return to the dormitory, leaving Sirius alone with McGonagall. Silence descends as McGonagall gives him an appraising look, and Sirius tries not to squirm too much. _Remember, show her no weakness._

“Why don’t you take a seat?” McGonagall asks.

“Er. What?”

“A seat, Mr Black,” McGonagall says briskly. “Or would you rather stand and twitch nervously?”

Suspicious, Sirius perches on the arm of the nearest chair. McGonagall returns to her previous chair and aims her wand at the empty fireplace; immediately, light and warmth flood the common room as the fire lights.

“That’s better,” she says. “Now. Mr Black -”

“I know, I know,” he says with a dramatic sigh. “Detention, is it? You’ll have to pencil me in for Saturday I’m afraid, Professor; I’m already busy until then for making some glasses attack Professor Flitwick and for giving a mandrake concussion.”

McGonagall raises her eyebrows. “I will pretend I did not hear that, Mr Black. I do not wish to, ah - add to your extra-curricular engagements.”

“You - you don’t? Er, right then - better forget what I said about the glasses and mandrake, then.”

“Gladly,” McGonagall says, sounding suddenly tired and like she wishes she were in bed. She takes her glasses off and pinches the bridge of her nose, taking a steadying breath before continuing. “I wish to talk to you about your performance here at Hogwarts. You’re very bright, Mr Black, no doubt about that - I just feel you could accomplish so much more if you focused your ability on more…academic pursuits, and less on…well, less on situations such as you have just described, which of course I have forgotten.”

Sirius shifts on the arm of the chair. McGonagall pushes her glasses back on with her index finger and gives him a piercing look. 

“What I’m trying to say, Mr Black, is that I would advise you not to let people goad you into petty dramas, especially ones with potentially disastrous consequences. Inter-house rivalry and healthy competition is all well and good, but not when taken to extremes. Have you ever thought about taking up Quidditch?”

Wordlessly, Sirius shakes his head. He knows that James practically foams at the mouth whenever a match is near and spends all his spare time on the pitch practicing for their next game; Peter supports a team and even Remus has been to matches, but Sirius was never allowed to play when he was younger. _Riding around after balls is not for Blacks_ , he was often told when he saw local children playing in the park, on the rare occasions when his governess did take him to the park. Horse-riding was encouraged, fencing expected, but Quidditch was considered by Walburga Black to be a bit too fun for her children. 

Sirius thinks, then, of Mother’s reaction if he made it on to the team. 

“I’ll consider it,” he tells McGonagall seriously.

“Excellent,” she says briskly. “And remember, Mr Black, sometimes it is possible to even be friends with students from other Houses, as strange as that notion may seem. After all, your family are in Slytherin - your younger brother was just sorted there at the start of this year, was he not?”

“Yeah,” Sirius says. “Reggie. He’s all right, you know.”

“For a Slytherin?” Professor McGonagall says archly.

Sirius grins. “For a little brother.” He wonders suddenly if Regulus has got in trouble for tonight, and asks, “Who told you about tonight, anyway?”

McGonagall’s expression is unreadable. “You know very well I’m not going to tell you, Mr Black.” She stands up, smoothing down the front of her robes and then extinguishing the fire. “It is late. You should be in bed. I’ll tell Vane to expect you at Quidditch try-outs this weekend. Goodnight, Mr Black.”

::

Sirius is waiting at the bottom of the stairs to the girl’s dormitories the next morning, ignoring the terrified looks he gets from the first years as they scuttle by. He then sees the familiar shade of red hair he’s been waiting for, grabs his prey by the arm and says, “Morning, Evans. Can I have a word?”

Evans pulls her arm free. “What on earth do you want, Black?” she asks, giving him a disgusted look.

“Just wanted to know if you slept well, after your evening of ratting James and I out to McGonagall,” Sirius explains.

“Do you want me to hex him, Lils?" Mary MacDonald asks, coming down the staircase after her and fixing Sirius with a glare.

Evans is frowning at him like he’s grown an extra head. “It’s all right, Mary; he’s just jabbering on about nonsense as usual.” To Sirius, she says, with infuriating calm, “I have no idea what you’re talking about, so can you let me by so I can get to breakfast -”

“You told McGonagall that James and I were planning on dueling with your precious Snivellus!” Sirius says.

“I did no such thing, you berk. Why would I want to get my best friend in detention? If you find out who it was though, give them my thanks for putting a stop to something so childish.”

With that, Evans sidesteps neatly around him, linking arms with MacDonald and joining the throng of Gryffindors climbing out out of the portrait hole.

::

Next on Sirius’ hit-list is Regulus, who he corners on the way into the Great Hall. 

“Happy, are you?” Sirius demands, barring his little brother’s way. “I suppose you thought it was a right lark, getting points taken from Gryffindor; although I’m curious, how many points did your little stunt cost you? I notice poor Slytherin’s hourglass isn’t looking so full these days. I bet your pal isn’t too happy with you, no matter how much trouble you got me in.”

“I didn’t do it to get you in trouble,” Regulus protests, wrinkling up his nose in indignation. “And if you mean Severus, he isn’t my pal. I don’t even like him that much. He’s a half-blood, you know, and he’s always hanging out with that Mudblood from your House.”

“Don’t say that word!”

“Mother and Father say it,” Regulus says, standing up a bit taller and looking defiantly at Sirius.

“Yes, well, Mother and Father aren’t here, are they, and it’s not a very nice word, Reg. Just say Muggle-born, will you?” Regulus just shrugs, and Sirius sighs, knowing its a losing battle with his brother. Regulus lives for the quiet life; he always goes along with their parents. “Why did you do it then? Tell on me? If you’re not friendly with Snape, I would’ve thought you’d like to see me give him a good cursing, considering your - ah - opinion of him.”

Regulus frowns, is silent for a long time. Just when it looks like he’s about to answer, a voice shouts, “Regulus, hurry up!” and Regulus jumps guiltily, as if he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. He mutters a hurried “see you” to Sirius and pushes past him, joining his friends at the Slytherin table.

::

“What did he want?” Evan Rosier asks, giving Sirius a suspicious look before sitting down next to Regulus.

Regulus shakes his head and pours himself some pumpkin juice. Next to him, Aegir Wilkes is talking about Severus. 

“Have you seen the look on his face? He’s absolutely furious, I’m telling you. He’s got detention for a week, I heard. I wouldn’t like to be the person who told on him when Severus gets hold of them.”

“Slughorn didn’t say who told him then?” Evan asks.

Aegir shrugs. “Was probably a Gryffindor; you know what they’re like. They call themselves brave. Pah! I’ve seen braver puffskeins. Bet it was Potter, or that Lupin fellow; he always seems a bit shifty to me.”

“Bit of a shame, if you ask me. I hear Severus was planning on testing out a new spell that he says he invented!”

“Invented? A Second Year?” Aegir looks sceptical. “Well, I doubt it could have been that powerful. What do you think, Regulus?”

Regulus, who has seen the scribblings on spare bits of parchment Severus carries around with him and knows a nasty spell when he sees one, merely shrugs. Over the top of the paper he’s pretending to read, he watches his brother and his friends at the Gryffindor table where he knows Sirius is probably moaning about how Regulus has gone running to a teacher and spoiled all his fun. Then he thinks of the way Severus looks at his brother, remembers the scrawled incantations and mechanics of something Severus dubbed _sectumsempra_ , and tells himself he's done the right thing.


	10. the cold.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lily and Severus meet up in the Christmas holidays, and have a little talk.

_Boxing Day, 1972._

A chilly mist swirls around Lily’s ankles as she makes her way to Spinner’s End. The cobbled streets are slippery with ice, so she walks on the verge instead, her boots crunching the frost-coated grass. She turns left down a narrow ginnel squeezed between two identical red-bricked houses and comes out the other end facing the patch of scrubby land dubbed “the old rec” by Cokeworth children and adults alike. 

A small playing field surrounded sparsely by bare trees and usually inhabited by scowling, smoking teenagers, the old rec doesn’t have much to boast about. A dilapidated-looking slide, just one functional swing, and a long-rusted roundabout set the scene, but as she gets closer Lily begins to smile - despite the location, despite the wind whipping at her face, despite the fact she can’t feel her toes - as the lone figure of Severus comes into view, stood next to the slide with his hands in the pockets of his black overcoat.

She hasn’t seen him since the last day of school before breaking up for the Christmas holidays, and they hadn’t exactly had the best goodbye. That insufferable idiot Black had been in a foul temper on the Hogsmeade platform, and had stuck his leg out to trip Sev up as he walked towards Lily. Sev had gone flying, his ink and quills spilling out of his bag, and he’d landed awkwardly at Lily’s feet. As laughter rang out along the platform, and Lily attempted to help Sev to his feet, Sev himself had turned bright red with fury and pushed her away from him, muttering he didn’t need her help. Black was already being admonished by Professor Flitwick, who was seeing the students back on to the train, and Sev didn’t retaliate. He just moved away from Lily, to go and stand with his Slytherin friends, and didn’t seek her out on the train. 

He’s spotted her now though, and raises a hand in greeting, looking happier than Lily has seen him in weeks. Lily wishes he could always be like this, like he is when it’s just the two of them. Like it was before Hogwarts, before they were sorted. Then again, she thinks, here at Cokeworth Severus doesn’t have Black and Potter constantly goading him. 

(At the end of first year, the Fat Lady had seen her crying on the way back to the common room, after an argument with Severus in which he’d accused her of being “one of them” when she’d defended Gryffindor after Sev had said they were all a bunch of idiots. True, that very morning Potter had spelled bars of soap to follow Severus around, batting him on the head, but then that had only been because Sev had apparently said something about Black’s mother, to hear Alice Thorne tell it.

“I don’t understand why he has to be so mean,” Lily had said. 

“Male pride, dear,” the Fat Lady said knowledgeably. “He won’t grow out of it.”

Lily was afraid of that.)

“Aren’t you freezing?” Lily asks now, stopping in front of her best friend, taking in the thin material of his coat, the trousers that are showing a bit too much bare ankle. Lily herself is wrapped in a brand new coat given to her by her mother for Christmas, thick gloves, and her Gryffindor scarf, and she can still feel the cold. “Why don’t you wear your robes? They must be warmer than that.”

“My dad doesn’t like me wearing wizard clothing. Says I have to blend in,” Severus says, although in Lily’s opinion the mismatched clothing doesn’t help, even in the shabbier part of town. She knows what Sev’s dad is like though, and so she just nods, pulling a sympathetic face. “I’m all right,” Sev says hastily. “It’s not that cold.”

Male pride indeed, Lily thinks.

They go for a walk along the riverside. Bits of ice and litter float on top of the murky water; as always, the top of the old mill dominates the skyline, and not for the first time Lily feels a twang of sympathy for Sev that she knows better than to voice. They’re only in their second year, but Lily finds herself thinking about life after Hogwarts, and where he’ll end up. Surely he won’t stay here, in gloomy Spinner’s End. Lily’s never been to Sev’s house, only seen it from the end of the road - the furthest he insists she ever goes. An end terrace with dingy net curtains in the grubby windows, Lily can’t imagine it as a place Sev dreams of returning to.

She’s seen his mum just twice, on the platform at King’s Cross putting Severus on the train; Lily gets the impression she doesn’t leave the house very much. As for Mr Snape, if it weren’t for Sev’s constant complaining about him, Lily would think he didn’t even exist. She knows Sev’s dad has a rotten reputation around Cokeworth; Lily’s own parents had exchanged worried looks the first time Lily had ever mentioned the name ‘Snape’ in the house, and now she knows better than to tell her parents who she meets up with during the school holidays. 

With all this in mind, Lily doesn’t ask Sev how his Christmas has been. Christmas in Spinner’s End doesn’t seem very merry at all.

He asks about hers though, and she shrugs. “It was all right. Books mostly, and Tuney got me some make-up.” 

“That stuff all the Muggle girls wear?” Sev says disdainfully. “You don’t need that rot.”

They pause to sit down on a graffiti-sprayed bench overlooking the river. Sev sits hunched forward, staring out at the water, his hands once again hidden in his pockets. Lily thinks about offering him her scarf, but knows he’d refuse it out of pure stubbornness, never mind the fact that it’s a Gryffindor one.

“I have an idea,” Lily says brightly, sitting next to him and kicking her legs out in front of her. “How about next year we stay at Hogwarts for Christmas?”

She expects him to be pleased at the idea. Instead he wrinkles his nose, and says, “Stay at school for the holidays? Isn’t that what all the hopeless cases do, the ones who have nowhere else to go?”

“I thought it could be fun. We’d get a feast, and we could spend the whole day together, not just an hour or so -”

“We could spend the whole day together anyway,” he says, looking at her pointedly. “If you didn’t always have to rush back to that family of yours.”

“Sev, don’t,” she says, flushing. “Don’t spoil it.”

“Sorry,” he says gruffly. “I just can’t stay at Hogwarts for Christmas, or any holidays. My mother likes me to be close. I wouldn’t like the thought of leaving her with - well, leaving her alone for so long. Besides,” he adds, looking away from her, “I like seeing you outside of school.”

“Why?” she says with a small laugh. “I think I’d rather be in a warm castle than out here -”

“Well, I wouldn’t,” he says shortly, a scowl appearing on his face. “It’s different in Hogwarts. _You’re_ different.”

Lily knows what’s coming, and she can feel herself growing defensive already. She fiddles with the Gryffindor scarf around her neck. “Sev, we’ve been through this…just because we’re in different Houses doesn’t mean we can’t be friends at school! You shouldn’t listen to what all those idiots say. I don’t pay any attention to what dolts like Black and Potter may say, do I?”

“It’s different in Slytherin,” Sev mutters.

“Why?” Lily asks, bristling. “Because I’m Muggle-born?”

“Lily…”

“No! I’m getting a bit sick and tired of this, Severus. Either I’m your friend or I’m not; you can’t want me to spend all my holiday time with you - time which is supposed to be me catching up with my family - and then try to blank me as soon as we get to school! Do you think I don’t know what all those creeps in your House say about people like me? It’s disgusting; _they’re_ disgusting.”

“They’re not all bad,” Sev protests.

Lily raises her eyebrows. “Mulciber is horrible! I can’t believe you hang around with him. And Narcissa Black - Sev, she barely has two brain cells to rub together!”

Sev’s lips twitch as if he’s about to smile, but then he sets his mouth firmly in a determined line. “You are my friend,” he says.

“Act like it then,” Lily says with a tired sigh. “I mean, you’re half-blood. Your dad’s a Muggle -”

“I’m not proud of it!” Sev snarls suddenly, and then he goes even paler than normal as he registers what he’s just said and sees the look on Lily’s face. “Of him,” he blusters, “I’m not - I’m not proud of him, I meant, Lily - Lily, don’t go!”

But Lily’s already up and walking away as fast as she can on the icy ground; she slips and nearly falls once, her ankle twisting painfully - tears spring to her eyes, sharp and hot, but she doesn’t stop until she’s away from Spinner’s End. Sev hasn’t followed her. Not surprising, she thinks sadly, stopping to lean against a wall, reaching down to rub her ankle. 

She’s a few minutes away from home, can see her street and the merrily twinkling Christmas lights on all the houses. She thinks of the cake her mum had been baking that morning when Lily had left, the sweet smell of cinnamon wafting through the house. Her grandparents are visiting from Leeds tonight. She doesn’t think of what Sev will be returning to, pushes him to the back of her mind. 

She starts walking towards home when she sees her sister striding towards her down their road. “There you are!” Petunia says, grabbing Lily’s arm. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Where have you been? You haven’t been - you haven’t been with _him_ , have you?” Petunia gives Lily a suspicious look. 

“I just went for a walk.”

Petunia rolls her eyes. “Trust you to go for a walk in weather like this. It’s going to snow, you know. Come on, grandpa and grandma should be here soon!”

Lily smiles, and the two sisters link arms, walking back home just as the first few snowflakes begin to fall.


	11. secrets.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius works out Remus' furry little problem.

_January 1973._

Remus feels the moon long before it makes its appearance. There are three days to go, and already he can feel the pull in his bones, muscles tensed like wire pulled too tight. 

There are days when Remus can (nearly) forget what he is, days when he doesn’t ache all over and he doesn’t suffer from painful spasms, headaches and shakes; days he can laugh with his friends and pretend that he’s normal, when he doesn’t have to lie and cover his tracks. Remus is good at secrets, having been taught them from an early age, and he’s good at making people believe that he’s all right, that he’s coping. It’s better at Hogwarts, where he doesn’t have to put on his act for his parents, although at Hogwarts he has to lie to his friends, something that’s been getting harder and harder to do recently. 

Today is not one of the days Remus can forget. His legs feel like lead as he walks up the stone staircase to the Owlery, and he’s exhausted and craving his bed by the time he makes it to the large circular room at the top of the tower. Still, he has to send a letter to his parents, or else they worry, and they do enough of that anyway. 

Remus reaches for a tawny school owl, and attaches the parchment to its leg - it takes a while, as the bird doesn’t stop flapping and trying to fly away. Remus has long suspected the owls know what he is, and indeed as he looks up into the rafters he can make out a hundred amber eyes staring mistrustfully down at him, or as mistrustfully as owls can manage. 

_Get it together, Lupin_ , he tells himself crossly, forcing the bird to be still at last and managing to tie the letter to it; it takes off out the window as soon as he lets it go. Remus leans his elbows on the stone window, carefully avoiding the fresh owl droppings, and cups his face in his hand as he stares out. From up here he can see the tops of the trees of the forest swaying in the wind and a steady plume of smoke coming from the chimney of Hagrid’s hut. Remus closes his eyes, enjoying the early morning fresh air on his face and listening to the gentle hoots and rustling of wings from behind him.

“Deep in thought?” 

Remus jerks, eyes snapping open as he whirls around to see Sirius at the top of the steps, leaning in the doorway, a wide smile on his face. 

“Didn’t mean to startle you,” he says, strolling into the room. He has a scroll of parchment in his hand, and as he selects a school owl, he continues over his shoulder, “You’re up early.”

“So are you,” Remus says. “Didn’t think you usually stirred before midday at the weekend.”

Sirius throws him another grin. Having secured his letter on to the owl, he carries it to the window on his arm and then lets it take flight. “Letter to Andromeda,” Sirius explains, noticing Remus’ frown. “She’s expecting a baby, and I like to keep in touch.”

Remus has heard Sirius talk about his cousin Andromeda before, always with a mixture of pride and envy in his voice. Remus knows the story. The Black that got away. Remus has the suspicion that Sirius might quite like to do the same sometimes - he’s been resolutely silent on the subject of his Christmas holidays, and always seems to go and return from his family home in a terrible temper - but Remus doesn’t have the guts to question him about this. He knows better than most not to pry into other people’s lives. 

“That’s nice,” Remus says, although he’s a bit clueless about babies besides the basics. Still, it seems the standard thing to say.

“Yeah, hopefully when it’s born I can visit. She’s already invited me to go and stay with her and Ted whenever I want. It’s just, you know.” Sirius trails off, shrugs. “Bit difficult, things being what they are.” He coughs, and then fixes Remus with a questioning look, grey eyes curious. “So, Mr Lupin, you never said - what are you doing up here at this time in the morning?”

“Sending a letter to my parents. You know they like to be kept up to date with what’s going on.”

Sirius laughs. “What do your parents think you do here at Hogwarts, go around bouncing off the walls and nearly falling out of windows? They do seem to worry an awful lot about you.”

“They’re just protective,” Remus says awkwardly, not wanting to point out that it’s a natural paternal instinct to worry. “My mum especially; you know, she’s Muggle, she doesn’t - she doesn’t always quite understand how safe things are here.”

“How is your mum?” Sirius asks, not taking his eyes off of Remus once. It’s a bit unnerving, really. “Is she feeling better?”

“Oh,” Remus says faintly, feeling the usual warmth spread under his collar. Good at it he may be, but Remus hates lying to people. “Her illness, it - it comes and goes.”

“Bit like the moon, then,” Sirius says casually, and Remus can’t help but jerk upright, his right hand curling into a fist of its own accord, and for an agonising moment he can’t actually think of anything at all to say. Sirius is watching him just as intently as before, but then he takes two steps towards Remus, his lips curving upwards into a smile. “Remus - Remus, it’s _okay_. I know. I know you’re a werewolf.”

Remus opens his mouth, then closes it again. He knows, rationally, that Sirius has lowered his tone, but the word still seems very loud out in the open. He briefly considers feigning ignorance, but then a wonderful thought comes to him: _Sirius knows, and he said it’s okay._

He gropes for the right words, eventually managing, “I - how?” 

“I know you have to nag me to do my homework, Remus, but I’m not thick. I worked out all your disappearances happen on a full moon. Your mother’s not really sick, is she?”

Remus glances inadvertently at the wide open stone doorway, and Sirius’ expression turns unexpectedly kind. It’s not a look Remus has seen there a lot before, a softening around the eyes and mouth.

“I get it,” Sirius says. “Come on, let’s go back to the dorm. James and Pete should be at breakfast now. We can talk about it there, if you’d prefer.”

Remus nods, still a bit dazed, and lets Sirius lead the way back to Gryffindor Tower.

::

An hour later and a giant slab of Honeydukes chocolate finished off between them, Sirius is staring at Remus with an odd expression on his face. Remus has finally finished his tale - it took a while, with lots of prodding and prompting whenever Remus trailed off - and now he’s bracing himself for the reality to sink in for Sirius, for him to show his disgust, but all Sirius does is run a hand through his hair and let out a low whistle.

“Remus, mate - I can’t believe you kept all this a secret from us for over a year.” 

He doesn’t sound hurt, just stunned, and Remus shrugs. “I didn’t want to lie to anyone. Dumbledore said it would be safer, this way. I wanted to tell you, all of you, I just - I couldn’t stand the thought of what you’d all say if you knew you’d been sharing a room with a monster all this time.”

Sirius looks up sharply. “Don’t say that. I know monsters, and you are definitely not one.”

“Sirius, that’s very kind of you to say, but really -”

“I mean it, Remus. Don’t ever call yourself that.”

Remus shifts on the bed, staring down at the red and gold covers. “Do James and Peter know, then?”

“Maybe,” Sirius says. “I’m not sure if they figured it out too. I didn’t want to discuss it with them until I’d spoken to you about it. Why, you’re not worried, are you?” Remus stays silent, and Sirius laughs slightly. “Remus, they won’t care. We’re your friends. So you get furry once a month - we all have our off days.”

“Sirius, please,” Remus says quietly. “This isn’t a joke.”

“Sorry, it’s just - I think you’re too hard on yourself. What happened was not your fault; it’s shit, but it was beyond your control. You shouldn’t punish yourself for it.” He leans forward, puts a hand on Remus’ shoulder. Remus jumps at the touch, but Sirius keeps his hand there, squeezing just once before dropping his arm. “I wish you’d told me before, but I can understand why you didn’t. Do you want to talk to James and Peter together?”

Remus nods, not trusting himself to speak. He knew he had friends here at Hogwarts; he just never knew how powerful friendship could be until now, that it could be more than sneaking out to the kitchens together and swapping notes in lessons and supporting each other on the Quidditch pitch. He never quite knew how it _felt_ , before, but he feels it now, looking at Sirius, and Remus gives him a shaky smile.

“Thank you, Sirius.”

Sirius grins. “Not a problem. Hey, what’s the betting old Petey’s head explodes?”

::

Peter’s head does not explode. He does, however, go very pale, and Remus doesn’t miss the way he bundles his fist into his bedspread, clutching at the sheets, his mouth a comical little o of surprise. James just goes quiet, looking evenly from Sirius to Remus and back again as if he’s trying to work out if this is a prank.

Remus is grateful for Sirius beside him, staring the two of them down. Remus himself doesn’t feel quite brave enough for this on his own. _I’m not a Gryffindor,_ he thinks. _I should have argued more for Ravenclaw._

“You’re serious,” James says finally, gaze settling on Remus. “You’re actually serious.”

There’s a moment of silence. All three of them are staring at him, and Remus knows this is something he can’t be rescued from, that he has to do on his own. He stands up a bit straighter. _Now or never, Lupin._

“Actually, he’s Sirius,” Remus says. “I’m a werewolf.”

Sirius throws his head back and laughs so hard he has to steady himself against the nearest bedpost. Even Peter starts to chuckle, and after a moment James smiles ruefully, shaking his head.

“All right, I walked into that one. I just can’t - I mean, out of all of us - Remus Lupin, a werewolf!”

“They say it’s always the quiet ones,” Peter says in a stage whisper, more colour in his cheeks now.

“Too bloody right!”

James and Peter are both smiling at him now, and Sirius is wiping actual tears of laughter from the corners of his eyes, the bedpost still supporting him. 

Remus never imagined telling people to be quite like this (to be completely truthful, he never imagined telling anyone full stop). More incredible than the fact his friends are taking his secret so well as to actually laugh about it is how quickly things return to normal afterwards. The four of them head down to the common room. It’s quite full, it being a chilly weekend and not a match day, but they manage to find themselves a spot near the fire. Peter gets out his chess board to play James while Remus and Sirius sit on the sofa next to Marlene McKinnon.

“All right, lads?” she says, looking up from her book. “Where have you four been? Making mischief already?”

“Don’t know what you mean,” James says innocently, looking up and batting his eyelids at Marlene before swiftly taking one of Peter’s pawns.

“Don’t give me that act, James Potter. I’m immune to it.” She puts her book down, leaning towards them. “Come on, you lot look like you’ve been up to something. Spill, or I’ll get Alice on to you,” she says, indicating the nearby fifth-year prefect.

Sirius snorts. “Yeah, just you try and tear her away from Frank. We could set off a dungbomb over here and she’d be oblivious when talking to him.”

“I’m not deaf, Black,” Alice shouts across the room, flipping him the finger without pausing in her conversation with her boyfriend.

Peter is frowning in concentration at the chess board, his hand hovering over one of his knights. He shoots Remus a look, who shakes his head, and Peter withdraws his hand, chewing on his bottom lip. James leaves him to it, turning to face Marlene.

“Sorry to disappoint you, but we’ve all been rather uncharacteristically innocent today. Well, except for Remus here, of course,” he says, throwing Remus an exaggerated wink. 

“Come off it,” scoffs Marlene. “The little lamb?”

“Excuse me,” Remus says mildly.

“You are a bit, you know, lamb-like,” Marlene says, and to Remus’ mortification she actually leans across to pinch his cheek. 

“Fluffy,” Peter murmurs absently, still studying the board. 

James and Sirius laugh loudly, even more so at Marlene’s slightly confused expression. Remus knows his ego should be somewhat damaged by this exchange, but for the first time today his body seems at ease, the worries of the coming moon forgotten, and he realises how good it feels to finally share a secret.


	12. toujours pur.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Black sisters don't give up on family too easily.

February 1973.

_My dearest Cissy,_

_First of all, let me say I hope this letter finds you in good health and spirits. I know NEWTs are soon; I remember it as a beastly time, just keep your chin up and remember, this too shall pass!_

_You never replied to my last owl, but I just wanted to keep you up to date. We’ve found out the baby is to be a girl; we’re absolutely thrilled but Ted doesn’t seem keen on any of my choice of names, so any suggestions are welcome. She’s due mid-May, and my offer still stands: I would dearly love to see you, Ciss, and I would very much like for my daughter to know her aunt. You’d be more than welcome in our home any time you want._

_How are the wedding plans coming along? How strange it seems that my baby sister is soon to be married!_

_I think of you often and hope you are, above all things, happy._

_Please write._

_Love,  
A._

Narcissa has kept the letter from her sister in the pocket of her robes all day, the words seeming to burn a hole right through the material and searing themselves into her skin. Tucked away in the furthest corner of the library, well away from the prying eyes of Madam Pince, she takes the letter out again and stares at it, although she’s already memorised the words by now. 

How infuriatingly like Andromeda, to write to her as if nothing has changed. Her sister is as stubborn as they come. Narcissa burnt the first two letters she received without even opening them as soon as she recognised the handwriting, and she hasn’t replied to any of the others even after her curiosity got the better of her and she read them. Her silence has done nothing to deter Andromeda at all, and she continues to write to her at least once a month, updating Narcissa on her life, as if a few words on parchment can heal the wounds she’s caused. Every time she learns something new about her elder sister’s life, Narcissa feels as if Andromeda is twisting the knife in just a little bit more, shoving her disgrace into Narcissa’s face, not caring about the discomfort she’s causing. Andromeda to the bone, Narcissa thinks bitterly, unable to see how her actions effect anyone else. 

When they were younger, especially after Bella had left for Hogwarts, Andromeda and Narcissa were very close. They bickered and squabbled as any sisters so close in age are expected to do, but Andromeda would let Narcissa into her bed at night and tell the stories Narcissa loved best; the one about the girl locked away in a tower whose golden hair grew no matter how many times the evil Muggle woman tried to hack it off, and how eventually the girl threw her hair down to a handsome wizard who had come to rescue her. Andromeda’s stories were always better than Bella’s, and always had happy endings, whereas Bella preferred the scary stories that left a young Narcissa with a fear that Muggle children were going to break into the house and try to lock her in the oven and roast her. 

Narcissa looked up to and admired Bellatrix greatly, but it was Andromeda who Narcissa cried for the most when the time came for her to go to Hogwarts, leaving Narcissa home all alone with only the occasional company of Sirius and Regulus, which was all very well and good, but they weren’t _sisters_ , and they certainly never wanted to listen to her stories. 

They wrote to each other a great deal that first year they were apart; Andromeda told her all about life at Hogwarts and how amazing it was, and Narcissa told Andromeda about all the parties that Mother took her to and all the dreadful drippy boys she was made to talk to. ( _When you come to Hogwarts next year,_ Andromeda wrote, _you shall be able to learn how to turn them all into frogs. Then you can kiss one and make him into your prince!_ )

Writing to her sister had always comforted Narcissa. Even now her fingers itch to pick up a quill and reply, but she knows she can’t. 

She doesn’t understand why Andromeda has abandoned them. Mother and Father would have made her a suitable match with someone worthy of a Black, and then Narcissa and Bella would have been her bridesmaids, just as they had always planned when they were little and would play pretend. 

Narcissa thinks of her own wedding, thinks of the empty space there will be now, much like the empty hole on the family tapestry at Grimmauld Place. And when Narcissa and Lucius have children, what then? Ever since being betrothed to Lucius, she’s had a very clear image of her blonde-haired children playing with Andromeda and Bellatrix’s sons and daughters in the gardens of Malfoy Manor while the sisters relaxed and gossiped like little girls again. She expected her children to be as close to their cousins as they were to Sirius and Regulus, and her heart aches now to think of her future children alone and without the sort of childhood Narcissa herself experienced, all due to her sister’s selfishness. 

As for Bellatrix, Narcissa isn’t sure when (if ever) her and Rodolphus intend on having children: they both seem far too involved in their new cause, and thinking about Bella’s bedtime stories, Narcissa thinks maybe she’s not quite cut out for motherhood. She’d always been sure about Andromeda, though, had imagined them as pregnant ladies together, laughing and complaining about backache and odd cravings.

Andromeda will be a good mother, she thinks, and then hastily pushes the thought away, glancing around the library furtively as though she expects Mother or Father to appear and scold her for such a notion. It’s no concern of hers now what sort of mother her sister will be, now that she’s decided to breed half-bloods and filth into the family.

Narcissa sighs quietly and points her wand at the letter laid out before her. “ _Lacero_ ,” she says, and the parchment shreds itself to bits before her eyes. She vanishes them with another tap of her wand, and pulls the heavy book she’s supposed to be reading towards her. 

It does no good; no matter how much she tries to force herself to concentrate, she just can’t. She rubs her eyes, a headache starting in her temples. I can always study tomorrow, she tells herself, and decides to head back to the Slytherin dungeon. Perhaps she’ll write to Lucius; that normally cheers her up. Or perhaps she’ll just crawl into bed and forget today ever happed.

It turns out, she does neither. She’s two steps inside the common room when she spots a familiar head of dark hair bent intently over a scroll of parchment. 

“Good evening, cousin,” she says, and Regulus jumps. “You shouldn’t let people sneak up on you like that,” she adds, walking around the dark green sofa and sitting beside him, peering at his paper. “Homework, is it?”

“Transfiguration essay,” Regulus says, pulling a face. “Three rolls of parchment. McGonagall is evil.”

Narcissa smiles. “I have long had my suspicions. Do you want any help?”

“I, ah, that’s all right - it’s not very good.”

“I’m your cousin, Reggie,” Narcissa says, pulling the paper from him and scanning over it. “I’m sure it’s - oh. Well, no, this isn’t very good.”

Regulus groans. “I just don’t understand half of what she’s on about! She’s threatening me with extra tuition from _Gryffindors._ ” 

He looks up at Narcissa pitifully, and she pats his knee absently whilst still looking over his essay. 

“What bits don’t you understand?”

“The bit where the thimble suddenly has to become a bottle top,” Regulus says irritably. “If it’s happy as a thimble, why make it change? Maybe it doesn’t want to be a bottle top.”

“You should start a campaign,” Narcissa says, smiling at his petulance. “A one man crusade on the rights of inanimate objects.” He scowls at her, red patches appearing on his cheekbones, and she says, “Well, there’s your first problem: your approach to the whole thing. You can’t think of what the object _is_ ; only what it is to become. Think of it as…transcending, achieving it’s true purpose, if you like. If you’re having trouble understanding the theory, maybe a bit of extra tuition won’t be a bad thing.”

Regulus looks doubtful. “From Gryffindors? Can’t you do it? I’ll understand better if it’s you.”

“I wish I could, darling, but I’m swamped at the moment. Wait until you’re a Seventh Year, then the real work starts. Put it this way: I long for the days of a mere three rolls of parchment.”

“That’s encouraging,” Regulus mutters.

“Stick at it,” Narcissa says. “You’re a Black, naturally you’re brilliant at everything, and if you’re not - well. Just have a go and pretend until you become brilliant at it, and never let anyone know you had any doubts.”

“Is that what you do? Pretend?” Regulus asks, taking his parchment back and rolling it up, looking at Narcissa curiously.

She tosses her hair back. “That would be telling, little cousin.” 

She settles against the back of the sofa, crossing one leg over the other, and looks at Regulus as he busies himself with stowing his essay away in his bag. She thinks, briefly, of asking him if he’s heard from Andromeda too - she’s fairly certain she’s been writing to Sirius, and definitely certain she _hasn’t_ been in touch with Bella, but she knows that bringing it up with either one of them will only end in explosives. 

Regulus is different, a lot more like her in many ways. They’re both the quieter ones, the younger ones, the ones overshadowed by their older siblings. They’re the ones that will have to shoulder the responsibility of family while everyone else gives themselves to politics and rebellion. As much as Narcissa tries to tell herself that all of Sirius’ ways are just adolescent bluster he’ll soon grow out of, she knows he doesn’t take his family seriously. In her heart she fears Sirius is a lost cause; he will be Regulus’ Andromeda. Regulus will be the one that’s left, just as she is.

They’ve got to stick together.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Regulus asks cautiously, self-consciously running a hand through his hair in a way that is so Sirius it makes Narcissa’s stomach clench. 

Siblings shouldn’t be apart; it’s just not intended for two halves of a whole to be separated. 

“It’s nothing, darling. Nothing at all.”

She reaches across the sofa and takes her cousin’s hand in hers, squeezing tight. Regulus looks at her, confused, but doesn’t question it. She won’t ask him about Andromeda; he has no need to be weighed down by such things. For now, let the most troublesome thing in his life be an essay. Outside the walls of this castle are far worse things, and the years pass too quickly. Narcissa Black makes up her mind now to protect Regulus from it for as long as she can. 

She won’t lose him as well.


	13. the beginnings of a plan.

_Spring 1973._

Sirius has always hated the night sky. 

It isn’t so bad in London, where the air is thick with smog, but at Hogwarts the sky is vast and inescapable, home to a thousand stars, each one twinkling down at him and reminding him of home. 

Some people associate the stars with a feeling of freedom, of limitlessness; when Sirius looks up, he feels the weight of expectation closing in on him, trapping him. The stars become the eyes of his ancestors looking down upon him, balls of burning anger. Long dead, but they still leave an impression.

He was taught the constellations from an early age. On the clearer nights Walburga would take him and Regulus outside and they’d have to recite the names to her (the proper names, naturally, none of that silly Muggle ‘Big Dipper’ nonsense), until both boys were shivering in their robes from the cold night air.

Sirius has been top of the class in Astronomy from his very first lesson - which, he argues, is all the more reason why he doesn’t feel guilty about skipping it so often. 

The Black brothers were named for two of the brightest stars in the sky; Sirius the brightest, a fact he used to lord over Reggie when they were younger and he thought these things mattered. James thinks the Black naming convention is hysterical (”what, do you have a Great Uncle Uranus?” he’d laughed in first year, and wouldn’t listen when Remus tried to point out that Uranus was a planet). But Sirius knows his name choice was more than just Pureblood pomp: his parents had plans for him, plans befitting of the Black heir. 

The best and brightest in their cluster, that’s what Sirius was supposed to be. 

::

He never really thought about the moon much. Stars were magnificent, awe-inducing. The moon was just…there. He’d never stopped to wonder or think on its power or noticed its changes. 

And then Remus says he’s a werewolf, and the moon can go hang just like everything else in the sky. Sirius starts paying attention in Astronomy, tracking the moons course, waiting for each new change. 

The first full moon after Remus tells them all is the worst. Sirius doesn’t have much experience with being concerned for other people, and he’s sure he’s never felt this gut-wrenching, panic-filled worry before in his whole life. He stays awake with James and Peter, not one of them voicing their thoughts but they don’t have to; Sirius can see it in the frown-lines on Peter’s forehead, in the tightness around James’ mouth. 

The morning after, when they visit Remus in the Hospital Wing, Remus looks fairly amused at the state they’re all in - as amused as one can look while being stark white and vomiting.

“I’ve been doing this for a long time without you all,” he says faintly, before drifting off to sleep, and Sirius promises he’ll never go through it without them again.

:: 

It becomes a ritual. They all cope in their own ways. Peter obsessively chews on his fingernails, James rumples his hair so much he looks set to tear it out, and Sirius paces the dormitory until James weakly jokes that he’s going to leave footprints engraved on the floor. 

“I just hate feeling so helpless,” Sirius confides to James one morning, after they’ve taken their customary places next to Remus’ bedside. 

Remus is asleep, and Peter is too, head on Remus’ covers and drooling slightly. Madam Pomfrey is nearby, keeping an eye on the clock; she hasn’t tried to stop their visits, not since the first time, but she does make them go to their lessons when the time comes.

“There’s nothing we can do,” James says miserably. 

“It’s shit,” Sirius says, keeping his voice low so as not to wake Remus. “What he has to go through, James - have you ever read a book about werewolf transformation?”

“You shouldn’t torture yourself with that stuff, Sirius. Remus himself said most of it is made up by nutters who want them all exterminated, not written by actual victims.”

Sirius has paled at the word “exterminated”, his worried eyes on Remus. He feels very small in the face of a problem he doesn’t know how to fix.

“I just wish we could help.”

“It’s help enough that we’re here for him,” James says, laying a hand bracingly on Sirius’ back. 

The bell goes, sounding a million miles away. Peter starts awake, but Remus, thankfully, sleeps on.

“Time for lessons now, boys,” Madam Pomfrey says gently.

“Tell him we were here?” 

“He always knows, Mr Black.”

::

That evening, Remus still isn’t feeling well and has to spend another night in the Hospital Wing, and when Sirius tries to visit, Madam Pomfrey is sterner than she’s been in a long time.

“I’m sorry, Mr Black, but he really needs his rest - don’t look at me that way, he’ll be right as rain tomorrow but tonight you must leave him to sleep. Good night.”

In the common room, Sirius stares out of the window at the moon, a dark look on his face. James and Peter watch him warily from the sofa.

“Scowling at it won’t make it go away,” James says, and Sirius resists the urge to throw a book at his head.

“I know that. I’m just thinking. There must be something, something someone’s missed…”

“Sirius.” James sounds tired, and rightly so. Having a werewolf for a friend wreaks havoc on one’s sleep schedule. “If fully trained mediwizards and potion masters and astronomers and whoever else haven’t found a cure, a Second Year rifling around the school library won’t do much good.”

“Shut up, Potter.”

“You’re just angry because you know I’m right.”

“No, I’m angry because my friend is a werewolf and my other friend doesn’t actually seem to give a toss -”

“Of course I care, you great berk, I’ve just accepted the situation -”

“Well excuse me if we’re not all willing to just accept that our friend needs someone to do something -”

“It’s a shame, isn’t it, we can’t actually be with him,” Peter says, mostly to himself, used to zoning out when they argue. “Like, I don’t know, spend the night with him, calm him down maybe.”

James rolls his eyes theatrically. “Yes, Peter, let’s all go get our head’s bitten off by the sodding great werewolf, what a fantastic idea!”

“Leave him alone, at least he’s trying to think, unlike some -”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, untwist your underpants, Black -”

“Shame we’re not all wolves, then, really - he wouldn’t want to rip our heads off then. Or would he?” Peter looks thoughtful. “Do werewolves care about other werewolves, does anyone know?”

“I don’t really care, to be honest - I’ve enough stress dealing with one werewolf, let alone a pack,” James mutters, but Sirius whips around with such force he nearly stumbles over his robes in an attempt to face Peter.

“Shut up, James. Just shut up. Peter, what did you just say?”

Sirius has shoved his face very close to Peter’s, who recoils nervously into the sofa. “Er. That I don’t know about werewolf relationships?”

“No, no, you great big amazing idiot, not that - the other bit,” Sirius says, a smile starting to creep on to his face that makes Peter, if possible, look even more petrified.

“About us being wolves? I didn’t mean it,” Peter babbles, alarmed. “I like Remus and everything, but I’m not going to become a werewolf just so he has someone to cosy up to once a month -”

Sirius holds up a hand to silence Peter mid-babble, a twinkle now definitely in his eye. 

James narrows his eyes at his best friend. “Sirius, what are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking I could kiss you, Peter Pettigrew.”

Peter squeaks and dodges as Sirius attempts to do just that, flinging himself on to the sofa on top of the blonde boy. There’s a scramble of limbs and cushions and finally a wet smacking sound and Sirius jumps upright, hair a wild mess and grinning like a madman, before bolting to the portrait hole yelling that he’s off to the library.

Peter manages to sit up, pink in the face and saliva on his cheek. “What the heck was that?” he demands. “He can’t sneak into the library now, he’ll get caught!”

James just shakes his head. He’s not sure what Sirius is up to, but he’s fairly sure it’s probably against the rules, and once Sirius gets one of his Ideas, a little thing like getting caught wont stop him.


	14. of parties and elves.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> End of second year.

_June 1973._

Remus is fuller than he has ever been in his life. He feels part boy, part pudding; it’s the end of year feast, and he thinks he’s only slightly overdone it, knowing it will be nearly three whole months before he gets food this good again. His mother tries, bless her, although some of her culinary attempts are a bit on the dubious side, and Remus thinks that if left to it, his dad would live on a steady diet of tea and crumpets. 

“Stop eyeing up my pudding, Lupin,” James says, sitting across from him.

“I wasn’t,” Remus says, knowing full well he was. 

James shoots him a distrustful look, one hand curling protectively around his bowl, muttering about unnatural metabolisms. 

“Save some room, Moony,” Sirius says cheerfully, and Remus manages to not cringe at the nickname. It’s not that he doesn’t like having a nickname (he actually really does; no one has ever bothered to give him one before), he just thinks it’s all a bit obvious - but then that, of course, is part of the appeal for Sirius. “Remember, party in the common room afterwards!”

“Oh, Sirius, I’m too full. If you pricked me with your fork, I’d probably leak custard everywhere.”

“That’s because you can’t control yourself,” Sirius says knowledgeably. “Anyway, you have no choice in the matter. We’re celebrating.”

“Celebrating what, exactly?” Peter asks, gesturing with his fork at the blue and bronze hangings in the Hall. “Ravenclaw won the Cup. We came last.”

“Thanks to some people,” Remus says, trying to give them all a stern look, but he’s too full and knows he probably just ends up looking like he has toothache.

“You’re both party-poopers,” Sirius declares, taking a giant swig of pumpkin juice. “I’ve got half a mind to de-invite you, but that would be cruel.”

“No, it wouldn’t,” Remus says hopefully.

“Oh, Moony, you and your little _jokes._ Too funny. Anyway, we lost those points for good reason, so I’ll here no more on the subject, ta very much.”

“Good reason? You’ve been sneaking in to the restricted section of the library to look at the old books with the illustrations of the naked women.”

Peter frowns at Sirius. “What’s he on about? We haven’t been in there for that, we - ouch!”

Sirius smiles at Peter, showing a bit too much teeth, and James says, loudly, “Oh, Peter, the game is up, no point denying it. We can’t control our hormones. Best to _say no more._ ”

Peter, who has gone pink around the ears, nods. “Ah. Hormones. Right-o.”

Remus begins to say, “What on -” but then there’s a clinking sound from the high table, and everyone in the Great Hall turns to look as Dumbledore gets to his feet, outstretching his arms towards the sea of students.

“And so we come again to this time of sweet sorrow, where we must say our goodbyes. For some, this marks the end of your last year with us at Hogwarts -”

“Thank Merlin for that,” Sirius mutters, glancing over at the Slytherin table where Narcissa’s blonde hair is visible. 

“- and I wish you all the best as you go and begin the next chapters in your lives. You have all worked hard this year, and long may it continue! For those of you returning to us, please try not to let your brains melt in the coming months. Now, I shan’t keep you from your beds and parties I know nothing about for long. Before we part, however, I will wish you all a happy - and, above all, a _safe_ \- summer. Now, off with you all! Adieu!”

Dumbledore claps his hands, just once, and Sirius, James and Peter stand up along with virtually everyone else in the Hall. 

“Coming, Remus?” Peter says, frowning down at him as the rest of the Gryffindor table make their way out of the Great Hall.

“Yeah, just - what do you think Dumbledore meant by have a safe summer? He looked pretty serious, and he never said that last year.”

“No idea,” Peter says with a shrug. “Probably means we should try to steer clear of whatever madness James and Sirius will try to talk us into when we all go stay at the Potter’s.”

“Ha, just you try and steer clear of it, Pettigrew,” Sirius says with a laugh, coming up behind Peter and slinging an arm over his shoulder. He smiles down at Remus. “Come on, pudding-boy. Up with you. Don’t worry about old Dumbles; it’s part of his job to try to keep us safe. He’s like our twinkling guardian or something. Come onnn.” He tugs on Remus’ arm, who gets to his feet reluctantly. Sirius beams at him. “That’s better. Now, boys, on to the party!”

::

Lily, in the far corner of the Gryffindor common room, sighs in irritation as she hears the sound of something being broken _again_. “Do I even want to know?” she asks.

Mary and Dorcas, facing the action, shake their heads in unison. 

“Just a chair,” Mary says, as someone in the background roars with laughter and someone else shouts a hasty _reparo_.

“I’ll almost be glad to be home tomorrow,” Lily says, staring determinedly at the wall. She refuses to look behind her, where the party is in full swing and she knows, just knows, which two idiots will be in the middle of it.

“No James Potter’s dancing on chairs,” Dorcas says with a small grin. 

Lily rolls her eyes. “He’s a moron.” 

“Oh, Lils, he’s always been kind to you.”

“Kind?” Lily says incredulously. “Mary, he hexes Severus at any given opportunity. If he can’t at least be civil to my friends, then why should I bother with him?”

“Severus’ friends aren’t exactly civil to us. At least James Potter isn’t, you know - _like that._ ”

“Let’s not fight,” Dorcas says hastily, as Lily begins to open her mouth. “It’s the end of our second year, we should be celebrating.”

Against her better judgement, Lily turns to face the chaos. Even the prefects have gotten into the spirit; Alice is on Frank Longbottom’s lap, both of them curled on to the same armchair by the fire. No chance of anyone instilling any order tonight then, Lily thinks. 

The only other person who looks as disapproving of this party is Remus, who is sat on the sofa pretending to read a book, but Lily notices how his gaze keeps on flicking up to Sirius and James who are indeed still dancing on a chair together, waving Gryffindor scarves above their heads and bellowing the school song. 

“I’ll never understand that friendship,” Dorcas muses, following Lily’s line of sight. “You know, he seems so different to them.”

“We don’t all have to be the same, do we?” Lily says, thinking of Sev.

“No,” Mary says, giving her a sideways look, “but in most cases it _helps._ ”

::

Sirius Black is on a mission. He is the self-proclaimed party saver, after all. When he left the party was starting to dwindle a bit, students from other Houses leaving and Remus looking set to fall asleep on Pete’s lap, but Sirius knows something that’ll perk everyone, especially Remus, right up. 

Food. No matter how much Moony protests, he always has room for more food. Must be a werewolf thing, because he never seems to put any weight on, and _man_ , can he put food away.

Sirius careens down the staircase and around the corner leading to the kitchens, thinking of the warm welcome he’ll receive when he gets back to the common room with more supplies, when he stops short at the sight of someone else coming out of the door.

“Reggie,” he says, before he can stop himself.

Regulus’ head snaps up, an almost guilty expression on his face that quickly transforms itself into a scowl when he sees who it is.

“What are you doing here?” they say together. 

Sirius grins slightly. “Party. Need some more food.”

“You were just going to steal it?” Regulus asks, wrinkling his nose.

“It’s not stealing, the house-elves love feeding people!”

“Maybe because they’re afraid to tell a human no, ever thought of that?”

“Oh, come off it Reg - like you’re not doing the exact same thing!” Sirius says, although one quick glance over his brother shows that Regulus is surprisingly devoid of food. Sirius frowns. “Hang on - what are you doing down here then?”

“Just out for a walk,” Regulus says stiffly.

“I saw you just come out of the kitchens, you ninny. What were you doing if not nicking food, chatting up the house-elves?”

Regulus flushes, looking down at his feet, and Sirius crows with laughter, comprehension dawning.

“Oh, wow - you were, weren’t you! Having a nice little chat with them! That’s hilarious, Reg - you miss Kreacher that much?”

“Shut up!”

“Did you have tea and biscuits with them too?”

“ _Petrificus To -!_ ”

“Ah ah ah!” Sirius says, deflecting the spell with a lazy flick of his wand. “Careful, Reg, anyone would think you were trying to hex your own brother.” 

Regulus glares at him. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” Sirius says easily. “Look, calm down. I won’t tell anyone, if that’s what you’re so jumpy about. Merlin forbid anyone should know you care about house-elves, right?”

“ _I don’t care about house-elves,_ ” Regulus says through gritted teeth, gripping his wand tightly. 

Sirius sighs. “All right, all right. You were down here for a walk, yeah?” There’s a long beat of silence, and then Sirius says, “Weird. I just realised we’ll be back home together again tomorrow.”

“Sorry to disappoint you,” Regulus mutters, and Sirius wonders if he’s being deliberately difficult, or if this is how it is now.

“Oh, Reg, get that chip off your shoulder,” Sirius says brusquely. In the back of his mind he’s aware that this is one of the longest interactions he’s had with his brother all year at school, and already a wand has been drawn. Time for a different tactic. “How were your exams, anyway? I heard you had trouble with Transfiguration.”

Regulus blinks at him. For a moment Sirius thinks he isn’t going to answer, and then, “Who told you that? Was it that idiot Longbottom, because -”

“Hey, Frank’s all right,” Sirius says, swinging his arms. “And anyway, it was Narcissa, actually.”

“Cissy _told_ you?” Regulus says, sounding horrified. 

Sirius shrugs. “She’s my cousin too, Reg. She might annoy me sometimes, but we do actually talk to each other at times, it may surprise you to know.” 

“It does a bit. Thought you’d forgotten all about family.”

_If only._ Sirius thinks of the letters from Andromeda he’s been receiving all year, stashed at the bottom of his trunk, and of the most recent one. The baby arrived three weeks ago. A girl. Nymphadora. A metamorphmagus. He wonders if family-orientated Reggie knows all this.

Aloud, he just says, “Don’t be an idiot.”

“It’s true. I know you’re planning to go stay with James Potter this summer.”

Sirius doesn’t bother denying it. “After Narcissa’s wedding, yes.”

Regulus’ eyes gleam. “As if Mother and Father will let you.”

“They will,” Sirius says with cool certainty. “Hints in the surname, Reggie. _Potter_ is acceptable, if you remember.”

“I know what’s acceptable,” Regulus says, scowling.

Sirius has a fond mental image of cuffing his brother around the ear, but he resists, takes a deep breath. Then, with forced cheeriness, he says, “Well, lovely that we had this little chat. Must go now, I have actual friends to get back to. Guess I’ll see you tomorrow at home.”

He brushes past his brother, half-expecting Regulus to call after him. 

He’s a bit disappointed when he doesn’t.

::

“Nice haul,” James says appreciatively, as Sirius unloads his pockets, and produces a box of goodies from behind his back. “You must’ve really sweet-talked those elves.”

Sirius thinks of the dozen or so eager round eyes that had looked up to him, the squeaky voices insisting that _the brother of Mr Regulus can have whatever he likes, Mr Sirius sir!_

“You know house-elves. Always eager to serve. Come on, let’s go wrap up second year. I can’t wait to see Remus’ expression when he sees this chocolate cake.”

James laughs. “There’ll probably be drool, you know.”

Sirius grins, pushing Reggie to the back of his mind. Forget his family and the fact his brother is too stubborn for his own good; forget that in a week he has a wedding full of all of them and an extended host of Pureblood idiots to attend. It’s the end of year, summer stretching out before him, most of which will be spent with his three best friends. What more could a thirteen-year-old boy wish for?

“Yeah,” he says happily, leading the way back down to the common room, levitating the cake in front of him. “I expect there will be.”


	15. the event of the year.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Narcissa and Lucius' wedding day.

_Late June, 1973._

Regulus tries not to stagger too much as the Portkey slams him down outside the tall wrought-iron gates. 

Beside him, Father and Sirius are stood tall and straight, distinctly unruffled. Mother smoothes down the front of her dark green dress robes, adjusts the onyx broach she’s wearing as if she’s merely been caught in a slight breeze.

“Feeling all right there, Reg?” Sirius says with a lazy, mocking grin.

Regulus plants his feet firmly, back straight, head up. “Absolutely fine,” he replies crisply.

Orion’s sharp grey eyes flick over his family; he nods approvingly, and together, all four Black’s walk into the grounds of Malfoy Manor.

:: 

Held outside in the great expanse of garden, complete with fountains, peacocks, and a self-playing string quartet, the ceremony is - of course - lavish to the highest degree.

Regulus isn’t sure who preens the most, his cousin or her groom, but he can’t help but smile when Narcissa sweeps past in her dress. She sets a demure pace on the arm of Uncle Cygnus, who is looking more solemn than ever as he walks his youngest daughter down the aisle.

Regulus hears the appreciative murmurs of the guests around him; he can see Great Aunt Cassiopeia weeping into her lace handkerchief a few rows ahead of him. Underneath the flower-decked archway, Lucius Malfoy’s eyes gleam as Narcissa takes her place beside him; Regulus even thinks he sees the hint of a smile in Lucius’ mouth. 

They get married in the Old Way, wands crossed and tied with a white ribbon, their eyes locked on each other as they say their vows. 

Halfway through the ceremony, Sirius yawns loudly; a couple of Malfoy cousins aim a disapproving look his way but of course Sirius doesn’t notice. No respect, Regulus thinks; his brother is hopeless.

It gets harder to ignore him when Sirius begins fidgeting, pulling at the collar of his robes and and jigging his leg, only stopping when Grandfather Pollux, sitting on Sirius’ other side, lays a firm hand on his shoulder.

“Enough,” Grandfather says, his gravelly voice low but firm, and Sirius stills his leg instantly.

As Narcissa and Lucius walk back down the aisle as husband and wife, all the guests rise and aim their wands skyward, sending out a shower of silver sparks to rain down on the couple. Raising his wand, Regulus’ sparks shoot a feeble five centimeters, more grey than silver, and he blushes furiously as his brother laughs.

Turning away from his brother, Reg focuses on the retreating back of his cousin. Lucius has his hand placed on the small of Narcissa’s back, guiding her, and Regulus watches them both until they disappear back into the Manor, a strange sad feeling in his chest.

He knows he should feel happy that his cousin is getting what she’s always dreamed of, but Regulus can’t help but think: _another Black gone._

::

To his relief, Regulus is seated for the most part with people he knows at the wedding feast. He had worried he’d be made to sit with a horde of Malfoy’s, but he’s pleased to see that’s not the case and takes his place at the table with Evan Rosier and Aegir Wilkes. He recognises Jarvis Avery from school, in Fourth Year, and he’s met Walden Macnair, a broad-shouldered boy of eighteen, at a few functions before; there’s just one person he doesn’t know, a dark-skinned boy who introduces himself as Jeremiah Shacklebolt. Recognising the surname if not the person, Regulus inclines his head in the way he’s seen Father do when meeting new people, and shakes his hand.

Uncle Cygnus and Aunt Druella are at the top table with Lucius and Narcissa; on the other side of the newlyweds is Lucius’ mother, Marquise Malfoy, and a man with a pointed chin and the tell-tale Malfoy hair who Regulus supposes must be Lucius’ uncle Sardonius; Regulus has learnt enough of the Malfoy family history to know that Lucius’ father died a few years back. 

Regulus cranes his neck to look for his brother, but the banquet hall is so large and the guests so many that it’s hopeless. Privately, Regulus hopes that Sirius is sat with all the screeching Malfoy cousins, but knowing Sirius’ annoying habit of always coming out on top no matter the situation, he’s probably rubbing shoulders with the Minister of Magic herself.

Their plates are cleared by house-elves wearing gleaming white towels. “Thank you,” Regulus says as one tops up his goblet, and then notices Avery and Macnair both looking at him funny, while Shacklebolt’s lips twitch slightly. “What?” Regulus says. He always thanks Kreacher, no matter how much Sirius teases him for it; Regulus merely reminds him that Black’s, after all, have manners.

“You don’t need to thank them,” Macnair says in a loud, carrying voice. “They’re servants; it’s their job.”

“I know that,” Regulus snaps defensively. “I was just being polite.”

“How novel,” Macnair says, eyebrows raised; just then, the house-elf’s arm wobbles and the jug tips, deep red liquid spilling on to the white tablecloth. “Clean that up, elf! What good are you if you can’t even pour some wine?” He jerks his head, a clear dismissal, not even looking at the quaking elf. “You may as well go stick your head in an oven.”

“Yes, sir,” the elf squeaks, eyes down as he makes the wine stain disappear with a snap of his fingers. “Right away, sir.”

Regulus realises with a sick feeling that the elves must be commanded to obey all the guests. His knuckles turn white as he clenches his fist around the fork he’s holding. “You don’t have to do that,” he says, trying to sound as authorative as Macnair, but out of the corner of his eye he can see the people at the nearby tables turning to see what all the commotion is, Father among them; his voice quavers a fraction, and the elf pauses, looking between him and Macnair, obviously unsure which command to follow.

“Leave it Regulus, for Merlin’s sake,” Aegir mutters next to him. 

Evan is taking a long drink from his goblet, avoiding looking at anyone; the Shacklebolt boy is looking thoroughly amused by the unfolding events. Avery’s small dark eyes are darting quickly from boy to boy as though he’s searching frantically for a Snitch. 

“Is there a problem?” a voice directly behind Regulus’ chair asks, and Regulus can feel his face flush all over again at the idea of Sirius coming to his rescue.

“No problem,” Regulus says, not looking around, but he knows Sirius is still there, can feel him leaning on the back of the chair. Of course Sirius won’t just go; probably thinks he’s playing the hero, and that Regulus should be grateful. 

“You’re sure?”

“I said so didn’t I,” Regulus hisses, painfully aware that Father is staring directly at them.

“Suit yourself,” Sirius says, and out of the corner of his eye Regulus sees him reach out, seizing the elf by the back of the towel. “Elf, come fill my goblet. I’d hate to tell my cousin - the bride, by the way - that you disobeyed the order of a member of the Black family.”

“Yes, sir, Razzy is coming,” the elf says, trotting after Sirius as he strides back to his own table.

Macnair snorts and shakes his head, taking a sip of his wine. Avery turns and engages Shacklebolt in conversation, and a beat later Aegir and Evan start talking about Quidditch season, and the festivities continue as if nothing happened.

::

Weddings are a special kind of torture, Sirius has come to realise.

He’s sure Narcissa’s seating plan is a way of getting him back for the time with the salamander eyes in her bag. He’s listened for what surely must be a hundred years as Prunella Parkinson goes on and on (and on and on) about how amazing Narcissa looked, and wasn’t the dress to die for, and wasn’t the ceremony simply divine? 

He doesn’t know what’s worse: Parkinson’s sycophantic ramblings, or Lucetta Malfoy’s high-pitched, shrieking laughter at every bloody word he says. Now, Sirius knows he’s quite charming (all right, very charming) and he’s the first to admit he has an amazing sense of humour, but Lucetta’s habit of going into peals of hysterics over the slightest thing he says is wearing very thin, very fast. 

His other table-mates are not much better. Two distant cousins, Mira and Rubidea Black, sisters who keep nudging each other, whispering and giggling, and Cressida Carrow, a girl whose general face and personality put Sirius in mind of a potato.

Sirius looks murderously at the top table, but Narcissa is too busy eating cake from Lucius’ fingers to notice him or his plight.

The sight of his cousin practically licking Malfoy’s hand makes him come over all queasy. He pushes back his chair, makes his excuses to the girls, and tries not to think too much about their crestfallen expressions and what it all means as he strides from the hall and out into the gardens.

Ten minutes later, he’s feeling much better, sat on the side of one of the fountains, levitating pebbles and dropping them into the water. The only good thing about this wedding so far has been the sheer number of guests, and therefore no way of any underage magic being detected. 

“Stupid wedding,” he mutters, as each pebble falls into the water with a splash. “Stupid table plan. Stupid family.”

“I hope you’re not including me in that,” a voice says, and Sirius looks up to see Uncle Alphard in front of him, eyes crinkled at the sides as he smiles down at Sirius through his beard. “What’s the matter, lad, not enjoying the celebrations? It’s the ‘event of the year’, according to Rita Skeeter.”

“Well, she’s welcome to come and swap places with me if she wants an invite.”

“Oh, she’s probably here somewhere,” Alphard says jovially, sitting next to Sirius. “The Minister herself is here, after all. We’re rubbing shoulders with the important people now, my boy.”

“Well, I know I’m thrilled,” Sirius says, and his uncle laughs. 

“Load of rot, isn’t it?” he says ruefully, glancing around. “All this - you’d think Cissa had snared Merlin himself from the way Cygnus was going on about this Malfoy boy. What’s he like, anyway, my new nephew-in-law?”

Sirius shrugs. “Bit of a pompous arse, to be honest; I think Narcissa’s main rival for his affections will be his own reflection.”

Alphard laughs again. “Well, lucky old Cissa.”

“She’s pleased as anything,” Sirius says moodily. “Marrying into a family like the Malfoy’s - it’s what she’s always wanted, innit. ‘S’what’s expected.”

Alphard nods slowly. “Yes, well - for some.”

Sirius looks at him curiously. Alphard is, as far as he knows, the only relative of age not married; Sirius knows he travels a lot, and supposes that’s why he hasn’t got himself a wife yet. It strikes him then just how long it’s been since he’s seen his uncle, and just how much he’s missed him. It’s been a long time since he’s been able to talk to someone openly, to really say how he feels about things, not since - well, not since -

“Have you heard from Andromeda?” Sirius blurts out before he can stop himself.

Alphard looks at him sharply. “Shut up, boy, do you want to cause trouble here of all places?”

“Sorry, it’s just - she used to mention how much she enjoyed it when you’d take her to Diagon instead of Aunt Druella and Uncle Cygnus, and I thought -”

“This isn’t the place,” Alphard says firmly. “We will talk, Sirius, but not here. You’ve got to be careful, you know.”

“Careful of what?” Sirius demands, thinking that weddings aren’t dangerous, only boring, but his uncle just shakes his head.

“Ignore an old man who’s probably had too much wine, Sirius. I think it’s time I said my goodbyes anyway.” Alphard gets to his feet, claps his nephew on the shoulder. “Keep an eye on Regulus, won’t you?”

“I always do,” Sirius says. “Not that he appreciates it.” 

Alphard smiles wryly. “Family, eh?” 

There’s the sound of footsteps, quick and determined, coming up the path in their direction. It’s too dark to make out who it is, and Alphard’s hand on Sirius’ shoulder squeezes hard for a second before Bellatrix comes striding out of the darkness towards them, and Alphard’s grip loosens.

“There you are, Sirius. Your mother was wondering where you’d got to.” Bella looks to Alphard, her expression changing into cool indifference. “Uncle,” she says, inclining her head briefly.

For as long as Sirius can remember there has been a strange sort of tension between his eldest cousin and favourite uncle. There was a dinner once, many years ago, when Bella had ended up shouting and Father had been very quiet and Andromeda and Narcissa had cried when Uncle Alphard left Grimmauld Place. Sirius had been young, and didn’t understand what the argument had been about; even now, he doesn’t remember the details, just that Bella and Alphard’s conversations now are always clipped and short. He’d asked his father about it all once, and Father had mentioned something about political differences and upheaval of tradition, and Alphard always being a bit radical, and Sirius had lost interest. 

Alphard doesn’t let any of this bother him; he smiles, leaning forward to peck Bella on the cheek. “Aren’t you a vision, Bellatrix,” he says courteously. “You did your sister proud today.”

Bella does look good today, in a dress of deep crimson, although Sirius wonders how she’s managing in the late June heat with long sleeves. He’d thought a similar thing about Lucius, who had been wearing his robe sleeves down, not rolled up to the elbow like most of the men in this weather. They must just be warm-blooded. 

“You know me,” Bella says sweetly. “I do what I can for the family. If you’ll forgive me, uncle, I had actually hoped to catch Sirius on his own.”

“Of course, of course. I was just leaving. Give your mother my regards, Bella, and tell Cyg I’ll owl him soon.” Alphard grins, winks at Sirius, and walks away up the path, Disapparating before he’s out of sight.

“That man,” Bella says, shaking her head.

Sirius stays silent, hoping Bella will say what she’s got to say and get on with it quickly. She sits next to him on the edge of the fountain and looks at him closely. 

“So, why are you hiding out here instead of back at the party? Your female companions are missing you, and Aunt Walburga had to nag Cissy endlessly about that seating plan. If you don’t go back soon, her head will surely explode in a fit.”

“Er. What do you mean?” Sirius asks, although he has a horrible idea that he knows exactly what Bella means.

She laughs. “Oh, Sirius, can’t you see what she’s up to? Your mother, bless her heart, intends to find you a bride tonight.”

“A bride?” Sirius explodes, his hand tightening around his wand. “What - who does she think - I’m thirteen!” he splutters finally, helplessly.

Bella’s grin is devilish. “Sweet cousin, as if that matters. At least she’s waited a few months. Father had promised me to Rodolphus on my thirteenth birthday, can you imagine?”

“Well, yeah, but - you like Rodolphus, don’t you?” Sirius asks, although he doesn’t know how anyone could.

“Rodolphus is fine,” Bella says carelessly. “He’s never mistreated me, and our families have known each other a long time. It’s a good match. But how I feel - or felt, for that matter - about him is irrelevant.” Sirius frowns at her, and she sighs as if he’s missing an important point. “I’m the oldest, Sirius. Before you came along, as the oldest child of the House of Black, do you think I really had a choice in the matter? I did what I was told, as anyone who understands anything about these things should do.”

“These things?” 

“Family matters, Sirius. Blood matters. I understood this; Cissy understands this. Andromeda,” she says, her mouth twisting into a grimace as though she can barely stand to spit the name out, “never understood. She was selfish. She didn’t think about the family, only about herself - and look where it got her. Alone with a Mudblood and half-breed freak of a child, while the rest of us are still together.”

Sirius feels cold despite the weather. So Bella does know about Nymphadora. He wonders how she found out; if someone told her, or if she has other ways of finding out about Dromeda’s life. Perhaps it’s best he doesn’t know how Bella gets her information. He shifts on the ledge of the fountain, the hard marble surface suddenly uncomfortable. 

“So that’s it, is it?” he says bitterly. “I have to just go back up there and let Mother choose a wife for me?”

He has an image of himself on the arm of Prunella Parkinson, and feels like throwing himself into the fountain.

“You do have a better deal of things,” Bellatrix says. “You’re the heir; they won’t just force anyone on you. Your parents will probably just arrange a few meetings - chaperoned, naturally - between you and a few girls of respectable name and repute, and they’ll see how you get on with them. Ultimately, the choice will be yours.”

“But I have to choose from a bunch of girls approved by them.”

It doesn’t seem like much of a choice at all.

“Approved by everyone, cousin. By our society. Your parents aren’t just going to let you run off and marry a Weasley, for example. Imagine.” Bella shudders delicately. “Anyway, don’t look so woebegone. You won’t have to marry until you’re of age, so that’s plenty of time to find someone you like, or at least get used to someone you don’t.”

Sirius feels as though he’s in a tunnel that’s closing in on him, squeezing out all the light, trapping him inside. “I suppose it would be stupid to ask, what if I don’t want to get married?”

Bellatrix looks at him with a sudden intensity that makes Sirius want to scoot away from her, but then he tells himself he’s being ridiculous. 

“There are - certain circumstances, shall we say, where a different path for you would be acceptable. For instance, you know I have no desire for children, even though it is expected of me. If Rodolphus and I ever do want children, we don’t want to bring them into a world such as this. We have our sights set in a more - political direction. Trying to change the world a bit. I explained it all to Father, and the family understand and support my decision completely.”

“You want to join the Ministry?” Sirius says, frowning.

Bellatrix laughs, and Sirius feels a shiver run up his spine. He shakes the feeling off, annoyed at himself. _Stop being stupid; it’s only Bella, for goodness sake._

“Oh, my sweet Sirius,” she says. “I am fond of you, despite some of your wayward ways. If you want, I can try to deter Aunt Walburga somewhat. After all, like you say, you are only thirteen. You should keep your options…open. A bride, or bride-to-be, would tie you down considerably.”

“Yes,” Sirius says eagerly. “Yes, tell her that, tell her whatever. Just - no brides.”

Bella smiles. “It would be my pleasure, darling. We’ve got to look out for one another, have we not?”

She brushes the ghost of a kiss to his cheek, and Sirius tries very hard to feel relieved.

::

As the final glasses of champagne sorbet are cleared away and the guests ushered to the large white marquee in the grounds, Regulus breathes a sigh of relief that the wedding meal is over and he can escape his table-mates. They either don’t notice or don’t care about his departure as he slips away, squeezing through the crowds until he spots Mother and Father off to one side, deep in conversation with Aunt Lucretia.

“Regulus,” Father says in some surprise. “Whatever are you doing over here?”

“I just wanted to come and say hello,” he mutters, realising too late how drippy and un-Black that sounds. 

Mother raises one eyebrow. “We had hoped you’d find some people your own age to associate with here,” she says, the meaning not lost on Regulus at all.

“Oh, leave him be, Wally,” Aunt Lucretia says, clearly already more than a bit tipsy. She’s swaying slightly back and forth, the glittering bracelets on her arms clinking together. “As long as he isn’t conversing with the help.” She laughs in a very unladylike way, and Regulus feels about five-years-old.

Mother and Father exchange a look. Father coughs. “Regulus,” he says sternly. “Go and _circulate_.”

“Look over there,” Aunt Lucretia says suddenly, lurching forward, the contents of her goblet sloshing dangerously as she points with the glass to a stooped old man. “I see old Caspar made it in the end - how he’s still alive I’ll never know; fancy him outliving Charis. I was sure that old battleaxe would live forever.” 

Mother says, primly, “I don’t think it’s proper to talk so glibly about the so recently deceased.”

Paying this absolutely no mind whatsoever, Aunt Lucretia continues, “My uncle Regulus always used to say that was a funny match. A Crouch and a Black. I suppose those are his children?”

“Lyra and Lucida,” Mother says at once; her knowledge of the Black family tree never fails. “And that’s Bartemius, and his son, Bartemius Junior.”

Aunt Lucretia snorts. “I do hope Narcissa and Lucius are a bit more inventive with names when they have children. Having all these family members with the same name is so confusing, especially in my advancing age. Hard to tell one Sirius or Phineas from the other.” She turns one bleary eye on Regulus. “I suppose you get tired of being one of a thousand Regulus Black’s, do you, boy?”

“N-no Aunt Lucretia,” Regulus stammers. “It’s an honour to carry such a fine family name.”

Father nods approvingly, and even Mother smiles thinly. “I hear they call him Barty,” she says, still looking over at the Crouch family. 

Aunt Lucretia sniffs. “How common.”

“He’s about your age, now I think on it, Regulus,” Mother says, her eyes lighting up. “Maybe a year younger or thereabouts. He should be at Hogwarts with you come September.”

Regulus turns to have a look. Barty Crouch is wiry-thin, his face sullen. His father doesn’t look too happy either; in fact the whole lot of them seem extremely out of place amid the dancing, celebrating crowd; they’re all sticking tightly together, unsmiling. Then again, Regulus thinks, if they’ve recently had a bereavement, a wedding is probably the last place they want to be.

“Go and say hello to them,” Mother says, and Regulus feels her hand on his back, fingernails digging in like claws. 

He knows when he’s being dismissed. He thinks of when he was younger, all the times he used to wander into the reception room at Grimmauld Place only to be shooed away by his father. _Go to bed, son, the adults are talking._

But Regulus is the dutiful son, and Regulus always does as he’s told.

::

When Narcissa was ten, she had a dollhouse that her father had bought her, custom made, from a toy-maker in Paris. The dollhouse came up to Narcissa’s shoulders when standing, and when she crouched down to play in the numerous little rooms it had, the arched roof came up over her head. It had working clocks in real time, staircases that moved, and hidden rooms, some that only revealed themselves six months after Narcissa had been playing with it. 

Andromeda and Bellatrix had laughed at her as she collected different furnishings in ivory, bronze and gold; crystal chandeliers and miniature carpets and plush velvet curtains; but Narcissa didn’t care. Even as a young girl, she loved being mistress of the manor.

Now, it’s as if all her childhood dreams have become a reality as she leads Clara Yaxley and Delphine Burke on a tour of Malfoy Manor. She used to share a dorm with Clara in Hogwarts, the two girls swapping secrets and Clara always boasting about her engagement to Henry Rowle; Delphine is a distant cousin of some kind and somewhere in line to inherit _Borgin and Burkes_ , a fact she used to talk endlessly about, as if she built the business herself.

It’s with all this in mind - the boasts, the bragging - that Narcissa leads them through the entranceway, its wood-paneled walls covered in portraits of Malfoy ancestors; past the grand staircase with its gleaming oak bannister and deep red carpet. At the back of her mind she thinks she’s probably enjoying their envious, awestruck expressions a bit too much to be entirely proper, but then finds she doesn’t have it in her to care all that much.

“I am simply bursting with jealousy,” Clara exclaims; Narcissa tries to hide her smirk as the door to the orangery opens, revealing her favourite room in the whole Manor, with its glass walls and ceilings and its views of the grounds.

The cool air in here is welcome. Narcissa sprawls out on the chaise longue in as ladylike a way as she can manage in her dress; Clara and Delphine seat themselves on the cushioned wicker chairs, looking around appreciatively. Clara’s gaze pauses for a moment over the miniature potted Venemous Tentacula in the corner as it tries to playfully snap at her ankles.

“Oh, pay that no mind, darling,” Narcissa says, quite enjoying the way Clara and Delphine hastily draw their legs away from it. “It’s only a baby. Couldn’t kill you; at best you’d lose all sensation in your legs for half a day or so. It was a present from Bella and Dolph.”

“How…lovely.”

Delphine gives a small, polite cough, still keeping a wary eye on the snapping plant. “So, how many bedrooms did you say this was?”

“Ten,” Narcissa says proudly. “And of course I intend to fill them as soon as possible.”

“You’ll be such spectacular parents,” Clara gushes, seizing Narcissa’s hand dramatically. 

“I know,” Narcissa says. “Lucius is so very visionary. I think it’s terribly important to bring children up in the proper way; instill in them the right beliefs and you can’t go wrong.”

“You’ll be getting a governess though, of course?”

“Oh no,” Narcissa says. Clara and Delphine’s eyebrows shoot up in synchronised surprise. “Lucius and I think it’s very important to be hands-on with a child; how else are you to be sure they’re learning what is acceptable?” Narcissa thinks of her own governess, a stout, hard-faced woman who used to ignore her cries when Bella hexed her dolls’ heads to fall off when she picked them up. “Lucius says that Hogwarts has got very lax lately - I mean, Dumbledore is a sly old codger; Lucius never did trust him. He was at the forefront of opposing that bill last month about Muggle Studies being taught. He just promotes inter-breeding, it’s a disgrace; and so it’s up to us as parents of the next generation to teach our children what is correct. Lucius is very passionate about it all.”

Clara and Delphine swap looks, and then Delphine shifts in her chair, leaning closer. 

“Is it true,” she says, dropping her voice conspiratorially, “that Lucius has joined - Him?”

Clara looks as if she’s holding her breath and might pass out from excitement. Clearly they’ve gotten to the meat of the conversation; Narcissa suspects they’ve been waiting to ask this question all day long.

She sits up straight, staring down her nose at the both of them. It strikes her then how young they seem to her; they’re just silly little girls waiting for her to feed them scraps of information. Narcissa savours the feeling of power for a moment before obliging. 

“My husband,” she says, relishing the word, “is one of our Lord’s most avid followers.”

“Have you met Him?” Clara half-whispers.

Narcissa thinks of the rallies and meetings in Knockturn that Lucius has dragged her along to. Narcissa finds them all a bit of a bore, but Bella and Lucius are extremely passionate about it all, and when they told her that Voldemort himself had requested to meet her after one of his speeches, they’d both gone on about it as if it was the greatest honour in the world. Perhaps it was, to them; Narcissa doesn’t know much of politics, but she supposes that Lucius and Bella know what they’re talking about, and if this one man could stir a whole crowd of people into such a frenzy and command a room with such confidence, then a private audience with him must be rather a good thing.

“We have been acquainted, yes,” Narcissa says, smiling, although at the time she couldn’t find it in her to smile at all. 

She’d felt like a little girl again, nervously dipping a curtsy before this tall, thin-faced man with piercing eyes. He’d laughed softly at the curtsy, apparently amused; he’d kissed her on the hand with oddly cold lips and said it was a pleasure to meet her at long last. Beside her, Bella had looked set to die on the spot, and Lucius was strangely rigid and he’d called this man ‘my Lord’, something that had seemed strange to Narcissa at first but now she’s picked it up as well like an annoying habit.

She doesn’t say anything else on the subject - not about the fact that Lucius has one of those awful tattoos, or that she thinks the masks are a bit much, or that she worries whenever Lucius slips out to one of those rallies in the evening and won’t return until the next day, eyes fever-bright. Best to keep an air of mystery, she thinks, as she summons an elf to fetch them some champagne.

::

“Welcome to the wedded world!” Uncle Sardonius roars, knocking his goblet into Lucius’, nearly sloshing firewhiskey all over his nephew. “Remember my motto: happy wife, happy life!”

They’ve retired to the study, away from all the noise and crowding of the wedding party, and it’s just now, away from it all, that it’s sinking in for Lucius. He’s married. Married to one of the oldest wizarding families in Britain. Lucius’ gaze travels up to the portrait of his father Abaraxas hanging above the fireplace, and Lucius feels a twang in his chest thinking of how proud Father would be, knowing the Malfoy bloodline is secured so admirably.

Edmund Nott, Lucius’ best man, raises his goblet. “I’ll drink to that!”

“Where is your wife, Lucius?” Rodolphus asks idly, swirling his firewhiskey before knocking it back in one. “Tired of your company already, dear boy?”

Lucius endures the ribbing with grace. “I don’t have a Tracking Charm put on her, Rodolphus; perhaps that’s where you falter with the fairer sex.”

Rabastan snorts into his drink. “Pay him no mind, Lucius; he’s just sore you got the beauty of the Black’s.”

“Now, gentlemen,” Augustus Rookwood says lazily, opening one eye from where he’s sat in an armchair by the fire, as Rodolphus flushes red and goes for his wand. “Bad luck to draw wands on a wedding night.”

“It was in jest, Roddy,” Rabastan says with a smirk, holding his hands up. “You know how much I admire my dear sister-in-law.”

“Indeed, Bella is a credit to the cause,” Edmund says heartily, and there’s a general murmur of assent and Rodolphus lowers his wand, starting to smile.

“What about Narcissa, Lu?” he asks, pouring himself and Sardonius another drink. “Is she going to join?”

All eyes on him, Lucius falters slightly. “Narcissa agrees whole-heartedly with our views. However, I fear she lacks her sister’s…enthusiasm for action,” he says, inclining his head to Rodolphus, who grins. “Narcissa has a gentle heart.”

“Well, she’d have to be soft, to have agreed to marry you,” Sardonius says, and the room echoes with laughter once more.

“Come on,” Edmund says, summoning a fresh bottle of firewhiskey and pressing another goblet into Lucius’ hand. “Enough talk of politics, just for tonight. There’s time enough for all that. The night is still young, and Lucius is not nearly as cock-eyed as a new groom should be!”

“Hear, hear!”

::

It’s nearly midnight when the high-pitched screams of a Caterwauling Charm jerks Regulus awake from where he’d fallen asleep on one of the tables. He sits up groggily, bits of confetti stuck to his face as he looks around wildly. They’re in the marquee, him and Sirius and Barty, but they seem to be the only ones. He dimly remembers most of the guests leaving some time before tiredness overtook him.

Abruptly, the Caterwauling Charm stops. Barty starts to say something but Sirius holds up a hand to silence him.

“Quiet, both of you - shut up,” Sirius commands, which Regulus thinks is a bit unfair as he hadn’t said anything. “Something’s going on.”

“Well, obviously,” Barty says, and then there’s a thud and a cry of pain that tells Regulus that Sirius has kicked him under the table.

“What is it?” Regulus asks quietly.

Sirius shakes his head slightly. “Dunno. Feels like - a barriers been broken.”

“Huh?” Barty demands, but Regulus knows his brother, knows that Sirius can sense magic, can sense things Regulus can’t even begin to recognise. 

It’s dark where they are, the lanterns extinguished, and the sound of shouts fill the air. Regulus doesn’t know where Mother and Father are, or Bella or Cissy, and he wishes his legs weren’t shaking, but something doesn’t feel right about this at all.

“I’ll go check it out,” Sirius says, wand held in front of him.

“No don’t,” Regulus says quickly. “The adults will sort it.”

Sirius gives him a funny look, but before he says anything there’s a familiar voice shouting, “Hullo, gatecrashers!” and they see Rabastan and Rodolphus, each holding a struggling man in a tight grip. The men have red hair, their long limbs thrashing as they try to free themselves, but they’re wandless. Rabastan and Rodolphus are grinning, even though Rodolphus appears to have a bloody nose.

Regulus feels a hand on the back of his robes, yanking him down under the table where they’re hidden from view as the struggling foursome come closer. 

“Sh,” Sirius breathes in his ear; Regulus doesn’t need telling twice.

“See anything you like, blood-traitor?” Rabastan says in a voice like a snarl. “Sore you didn’t get an invite?”

“Must have been lost in the post,” one of the men wheezes; there’s a dull thudding sound, and the other man yells, “Gid!” 

Regulus feels his stomach drop; he doesn’t remember making a sound, but he must do, because Sirius pushes a hand over his mouth. They’re pressed very close together; he can feel Sirius’ heart hammering, hear Barty’s ragged breathing, and all he can smell is Sirius’ sweaty hand, and he _wants to go home_.

“Shut up, you, or you’ll get the same. Don’t you know it’s impolite to turn up uninvited to other people’s homes?”

“Bet you thought you were clever, skulking about, hoping to hear something interesting? Well, sorry to burst your bubble, but having a wedding is not a crime, last time I checked.”

“For Merlin’s sake you two.” A different voice this time; Regulus can’t make it out. Male, and bored sounding. “Send them on their way before they do have something to report. Stop messing about.”

“What, just - let them go?” This Rodolphus, uncertain.

“Precisely,” the third voice says crisply. “We don’t want any mess, not here.”

“It’s your lucky day, blood-traitors,” Rabastan says. “Come on, we’ll show you the back door.”

The three of them stay crouched under the table, hidden by the lace tablecloth, until the shouts of the men fade away, and even then Regulus can’t seem to uncurl himself from his position until Sirius stands and holds out a hand to help him up.

Barty has a strange expression on his face, his eyes wide. “That was cool.”

“That was not cool,” Sirius says, looking at Barty in disgust.

“What - what _was_ that?” Regulus asks, looking at his older brother.

“No idea,” Sirius says. He grabs Regulus by the arm, looking over his shoulder, his wand still in his hand. “Let’s go find Mother and Father. Dunno about you, but I want to get home.”

That tells Regulus all he needs to know about the importance of what he’s just seen, and he can't help but shiver as he follows his brother's lead back to the looming silhouette of the Manor.

He can’t remember a time when Sirius expressed a desire to go home before.


	16. the letters of summer.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A collection of letters from July 1973.

Sirius Black to Remus Lupin  
July 10th 1973

_Remus,_

_The Potter’s house is INSANE. Mrs P makes the most delicious blackberry pie I’ve ever tasted - yesterday we went blackberry picking and she’s even offered to teach me how to make my own jam, how wild is that? She’s aces, Moony, and James’ dad is great too; James had an incident with the toilet the other day (don’t ask) and flooded the bathroom and he had to be rescued via the bathroom window, and his dad was just SO COOL about it all, like it happens all the time, and I think it probably does._

_It’s so different from home, I don’t think I ever want to go back. Do you think the Potter’s would mind if I just camped in their back garden for ever? I could set up a little tent and live on blackberries for the rest of my life. And people would visit and say “hello, I do believe there’s someone in your garden Althea,” and Mrs P would just smile fondly and say “that’s Sirius; he keeps the gnomes at bay.”_

_That’s my vision for the future anyway._

_As great as it is here, we do miss you! Peter’s arriving tomorrow from the train station (apparently his mother won’t allow Floo travel, thinks it’s dirty - she sounds barmy) but it’s turned out all right as we get to go pick him up! I’ve never seen a Muggle train station before, so we have to all be incognito; we’ve been round the local shops to buy some Muggle clothing so as not to alarm the Muggles. CAN YOU IMAGINE MOONY, THINK OF MY MOTHER’S FACE IF SHE KNEW._

_Anyway the point is, Peter’s coming so then that will be all three of us but sadly not four, and we need four. Sorry to hear that the last moon was rough for you, do you want to talk about it? I know you’re probably frowning and tsk-ing and will insist with a stiff upper lip that you’re fine and don’t need to be mollycoddled, but you know seriously if you want to talk I’m here._

_When do you think you’ll be able to come? I think the Potter’s think we’ve made you up._

_Hope you feel well enough to travel soon._

_S._

—

Remus Lupin to Sirius Black  
July 11th 1973

_Sirius,_

_I have the most amusing mental picture in my head of you covered in jam, living in the wilderness of the Potter’s garden like some feral being. In the future you will become an urban legend for the children of Maidstone to fear._

_And you are daft; you know very well the Potter’s wouldn’t have you roughing it in the garden - all you’d need to do is bat those ridiculously long eyelashes of yours and they’d probably kick James out and give you his bedroom._

_I won’t ask about the exploding toilet. I am too familiar with James’ habit of exploding toilets already. What is this, his sixth one now? Psychologists would probably have something to say about that particular pattern of behaviour._

_I hope the three of you are behaving yourselves as best you can; it really is awfully good of the Potter’s to have invited us all this summer, and I’m as disappointed as anyone that I’m not there and am missing out on all the jam and toilet-y exploits. How was the train station experience? I don’t want to spoil your excitement, but really they’re not that different from the Hogwarts Express, only a lot grubbier and prone to delays - well, that’s how it is here anyway._

_Thanks for the picture of you in those Muggle clothes, by the way - I nearly choked on my tea in a fit of laughter. You and James alarmingly suit those bell-bottoms. Mr Potter looks quite attached to his bright red flares - how ever did he manage to find a matching blazer? At least Peter couldn’t have missed you in a crowd._

_I will insist, frowning and with my upper lip extremely stiff, that I am all right. Got a new scar to add to the bunch, but what’s another one right? You know my mum though, and she says I have to stay at home for another two days at least, and now I know YOU’RE frowning and tsk-ing, but I have to listen to my parents on this and then I PROMISE I will come join you all. I shudder to think what you’re all getting up to without me._

_Save me a piece of pie._

_Remus._

__

 

Narcissa Malfoy to Bellatrix Lestrange  
July 13th 1973  


_Bella,_

_I leave you the Manor and all my worldly possessions back home - I am never returning to London! I wish. Why can’t honeymoons last forever?_

_The chateau we’re staying in is amazing; the view is to die for, we’re right by the sea and it never seems to drop below 25 degrees! I’ll say it again: a-ma-zing. Next stop: Florence! A girl could get used to this._

_How are your travels going? You and Rab and Dolph are terribly cultured, visiting Nurmengard! Lucius hasn’t said anything but I do believe he’s jealous that he’s missing out. Poor thing, he is sometimes too dedicated for his own good._

_He is a dear though; he took me to the opera the other day and pretended to enjoy it for my sake._

_I must thank you again for the house-elf you gave us, Bells; it was a brilliant idea, it is a comfort to know that home is being looked after and will be all ready for us when we return (only one week left - sob!)_

_We simply must meet up when we both get back home, and please dear NOT a rally. I know they’re your ‘thing’ now but everyone gets so over-excited and they make such a racket with their shouting. I want a proper, peaceful catch-up with my sister, thank you. I feel I didn’t get to see you much even a tt the wedding as I was forced to talk to everyone and thank them for coming (and Esther Mulciber can talk the hind legs off a hippogriff, did I tell you she had me talking to her for nearly an hour? What a fright), and then of course there was all that fuss at the end. Fancy gatecrashers at my wedding! Lucius still goes into a rage when he thinks about it; lucky for the foolish dolts that they weren’t caught by him! Jolly good that Rab and Dolph got rid ofhem so efficently. Did they ever say who it was? Lucius wouldn’t tell me the details; said he didn’t want to spoil my day, bless his heart._

_Have you heard anything from Grimmauld lately? Sirius has gone to stay at Maidstone with the Potter’s - frightfully Gryff of course, but no traces of mud there at least. I imagine Reg mopes about without him, getting in Aunt Walburga’s hair. Perhaps you could take Reg to a rally when he’s old enough; it would keep him busy and get him a hobby. Now there’s an idea!_

_Love,  
Cissy._

—

Bellatrix Lestrange to Narcissa Malfoy  
July 15th 1973

_Darling Cissy,_

_Thrilled that you’re having a good time but missing you terribly of course. We’ve had the most wonderful time._

_You may not remember Antonin Dolohov from school - he was in Seventh Year when you were in Second - but he’s quite a good friend of Rab and Dolph’s and has graciously agreed to host us in his grandparents dacha and show us around Russia while we’re here. His grandparents are dears - both Durmstrang educated, and so very wise! Dolly is in his element, strutting around and showing off with Russian spells and the like. Of course the rest of us simply stick to Translation Charms to get by, but it is so fascinating to listen to them talk - it seems their government isn’t nearly so stifling despite the Statute of Secrecy and his babushka practically teared up when I told her about our Lord’s plans. Says it seems like He’s got the right idea at last and it’s about time someone came and stirred things up in stuffy old Britain!_

_Now, you asked about Nurmengard - oh Cissy it was so interesting I don’t even think I can put it into words.Very educational indeed even though sadly most areas are cordoned off - no fun. I feel I have learned more here about history than I ever did in any of old Binn’s dusty classrooms. Here are the real lessons!_

_At one point Dolph and I wandered off - I wanted to look again at the Eastern Tower, where they say Grindlewald is imprisoned (the officials won’t let anyone know his real location, but this is the rumour) - and Rab and Dolly said they’d stay put and wait for us. Anyway just as we were nearly there this Mud approached us, quite brazen and proud about it, and told us she was lost. She went on about how fascinating all this was and she’s never seen anything like it and she wanted to learn as much as she could - I imagined old Grindy nearby would be throwing himself at the bars of his cell at the sheer nerve of it. As she was explaining how she’d gotten lost Dolph had that look on his face - you know the one, if looks could Stupefy - and inwardly I was roaring with laughter but she had no idea and kept prattling on. Anyway in the end we directed her to where we knew the boys were waiting, I thought they were probably bored and would appreciate the distraction._

_Oh it was a riot, I wish you had been there. How you would have laughed._

_The last full moon we went to a werewolf fighting match. Rab lost 200 Galleons because his beast had its throat ripped out in the second round so you can imagine poor Rab was miffed, but my purse is significantly heavier!_

_Yes we have to meet up! How about we drop by Grimmauld for tea when we’re all back on home soil? Would be lovely to catch up with them all as well, and it would cheer Reggie up no doubt, if he’s in one of his moods. I laughed for an age at the thought of him at a rally - sometimes you are too much!_

_Love from your devoted sister,  
Bella._

—

Lily Evans to Dorcas Meadowes  
July 18th 1973  


_Dear Dorcas,_

_Thank you again for that basket of sweets! Got my parents to try some Bertie Bott’s - Dad got cauliflower and Mum was made up that she got fish, chips and mushy peas; she said it was her favourite meal without the hassle of popping to the chippy! Hilarious. Petunia refused to try any. Honestly I do love her but she’s so snobby when it comes to anything fun at all - she’d skin me if she knew but I let a Chocolate Frog loose in her room yesterday; all was quiet until about 10pm and then the house was just filled with the most hysterical shrieks you’ve ever heard; of course Mum and Dad just looked at her as if she were mad when she said a chocolate-looking frog had been in her bed, which just made it all the more funny. I shouldn’t tease her I know, but sometimes she deserves it._

_The other morning she had a screaming fit because an owl delivered The Daily Prophet - I wish she’d get used to things like this, Mum and Dad barely bat an eye now. I think it’s important to keep up to date with what’s going on because sometimes I feel like I’m missing out on so much over the summer; although the news has been a bit gloomy recently what with those fires in Brixton and that missing couple in Shropshire! Obviously my sister doesn’t care about any of this, and she’s been going around shutting all the windows so that the poor owls can’t get in, so then of course they just drop them down the chimney so that the post swoops out at her and makes her screech even more. As you can tell, life is a bit of a battle at the moment!_

_Anyway as a thank-you for the goodies I’m going to send you some rock from Blackpool - don’t worry it’s not actually a rock, it’s just what we call it. It’s very nice, so let me know what you think!_

_Hope you’re having a good summer._

_Lily xx_

—

 

Severus Snape to Lily Evans  
July 20th 1973

_Lily,_

_I hope this letter reaches you all right. I’ve never been sure about the Muggle post, so I hope I’ve put the stamps on right. My father hates using owls, that’s all._

_You’re not missing much here at home. I can only hope you’re having a much nicer time in Blackpool. I’m already counting down the days until school starts, my father is being his usual delightful self and he and mum have already had seven fights and counting. Yesterday mum drew her wand and my father flew into a rage but of course didn’t dare raise a hand to her after that, the big coward, so he stormed out and didn’t come home for two days. It was bliss._

_I’m rather looking forward to Third Year. I can’t wait to get started on my elective lessons and visiting Hogsmeade will be lots of fun. Perhaps we can go to the first one together?_

_Also do you want to meet up at Diagon Alley to get our new school books? If you could reply the Muggle way, that would probably be best._

_It’s been strange not seeing you so hope you can make it!_

_Yours,  
Severus._

—

Regulus Black to Sirius Black  
July 27th 1973

_Dear Sirius,_

_Home is very quiet without you. ~~I’m not sure I like it.~~_

_The Wilkes’ came over yesterday and Mrs Wilkes started harping on about you being a Gryffindor and wasn’t it a shame, and Father went practically white with anger and I thought Mother was going to hex her through the wall. Then Mother said “actually Sirius is top of his class in Transfiguration” in the most controlled voice I have ever heard managed on her, and Mrs Wilkes looked boggled. After she had gone Mother was fuming about how dare anyone insult a Black and what would SHE know, she’s just a Wilkes and everyone knows Elizabeth Wilkes has got a Muggle great-grandfather etc etc. It went on for hours. I don’t think they’ll be able to come over for tea anymore._

_~~I do wish you’d been here to see it, then you’d see they do pay attention to you. Even Kreacher doesn’t seem to know what to do with himself if he’s not cleaning up your dirty footprints from the halls.~~_

_Bella is holidaying with Rabastan and Rodolphus, taking a tour of Nurmengard and then staying in Russia, and Cissy is in Florence right now, ~~so it’s quite lonely here.~~_

\- Never sent; crumpled up and thrown into a corner of the bedroom; later found and kept by Kreacher.


	17. the visit.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius visits Andromeda and Ted in their new home.

_August 1973._

Ted pauses in the middle of turning the page of the book he’s trying to read, giving a small sigh of irritation as his wife paces in front of him for the fourth time in two minutes, casting her shadow across the page.

“Darling, love of my life,” he says with forced patience, a muscle working in his jaw. “You keep blocking my light.”

Andromeda glares at him and snaps, “Well, perhaps now you can get up and actually be of use!” She readjusts a sleeping Nymphadora in her arms, giving another furtive glance out of the window and on to the quiet street. “I can’t believe you’re being so calm.”

Ted doesn’t budge from the sofa. Just to annoy her, he turns the page with deliberate forcefulness, the crisp of the paper slicing through the air and causing Andromeda to glower at him all the more. Ted smiles sweetly at her. God, but she’s beautiful when she’s angry.

Andromeda checks the clock on the wall. “He’s late,” she mutters, fussing with Nymphadora’s blankets. “Something must have happened.”

“Nothing has happened,” Ted says, not looking up from his book, leaning slightly to the left to be near the light. “He’s probably just been held up by something.”

“That’s what I’m worried about,” Andromeda says darkly.

She turns her back on him to resume her vigil at the window. Ted, glancing up and noting her rigid posture, puts his book down on the coffee table and goes to stand behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders. Andromeda jumps slightly at the touch - another reminder of how twitchy she is lately, how tightly wound - but then she relaxes, a long sigh escaping from her lips as though she’s been holding her breath for an age. Ted begins to massage her shoulders, and Andromeda murmurs, “Oh, that’s _good_.”

It’s nice, actually, the moment. With his wife leaning into him and their daughter asleep in her arms, Ted imagines this must be what being a normal bloke with a normal family is like. Just another family, looking out on to the sleepy street as dusk settles over the houses. It’s a good moment, a reminder that they’re better than the sleepless nights and constant bickering of late would have them believe. Between a young baby and the strain of practically living in hiding, the endless cycle of protection-wards-up-baby-fed-doors-locked-baby-changed, good moments are hard to come by lately, and Ted takes them where he can.

He’s just tilting Andromeda’s head back, two fingers on her jaw, when there’s a bang from outside; Andromeda’s wand is suddenly in her hand so quickly that Ted wonders dazedly if she’d hidden it in Nymphadora’s blankets. Andromeda shoves the baby at him, who starts bawling at the rude awakening, and then his wife is gone and reappeared again in the blink of an eye, Apparating back with one Sirius Black on her arm, bowled over and retching on their cream carpet.

“Wotcher, Sirius,” Ted says with a broad grin, clapping him on the back. “Sorry there’s no red carpet welcome.”

Sirius straightens up, scowling at his cousin. “A bit more warning before Side-Along Apparation wouldn’t go amiss.”

Andromeda doesn’t appear to be listening; she’s moving around the room quickly, wand drawn and moving in intricate spirals and swirls as she mutters the protection charms. Ted, used to it all, jiggles Nymphadora up and down, shushing her until she starts to close her eyes again. Sirius is staring at Andromeda as though she’s gone mad, and Ted supposes that to someone who doesn’t know what it’s been like, it probably appears that way. Once finished, Andromeda checks out of the window again, eyes unblinking as she scans the darkening street for any sign of movement.

“You can’t be too careful,” she says over her shoulder. “That damn Knight Bus is so loud, I just had to get you inside as quick as possible.” Finally appearing satisfied that no great danger is about to engulf them all, she finally turns to look at her cousin. “Are you all right?”

“I think I left a few vital organs back there on the pavement,” Sirius says, his expression still somewhat ruffled, “but yeah, I’ll live.” He’s eyeing Andromeda warily. “Are _you_ all right?” he asks, sounding genuinely concerned.

“All the better for seeing you.”

A smile blooms on her face, and for one beautiful moment she looks how a woman of just twenty should look; young, and happy. Her dark eyes lose the slightly hunted look that usually lingers there, and Ted is ridiculously, deliriously grateful that Sirius is here. 

Things weren’t perfect when it was just the two of them, and they realised they’d have to lay low for a while, but at least then they could laugh and joke and make the situation seem not as bad as it was. When Andromeda told him she was pregnant, though, that’s when everything became a lot more serious, and Andromeda quicker to snap whenever he tried to ease the tension. He’d once joked that they should ask Bellatrix to be godmother, and Andromeda had left that very night; she never told him where she went, but Ted awoke in the middle of the night to find Alphard Black with his wand pressed to his throat, snarling that he sincerely hoped his niece had not thrown away her life for someone who wasn’t going to take it seriously.

Since then, and since Nymphadora has been with them, Andromeda hardly ever laughs. Ted has watched her send owl after owl to Narcissa, and knows she gets no reply in return, and can see how much it’s crumbling his wife from the inside. She’s more Black than she ever lets on though, and won’t talk about it with him. Instead she wanders around the house as though she’s lost something irreplaceable, and a part of Ted can’t help but hate himself because he knows that he’s the reason his wife is living in fear, why she doesn’t play that much with Nymphadora or will often shove their daughter into his arms and leave the room. Ted thinks of his daughter growing up in a house with no laughter and parents who are afraid to touch each other anymore, and sometimes he wonders if it was all worth it.

Sirius grabs Andromeda in a hug, and she presses her face into his shoulder. Ted, looking on, thinks he sees the hint of a tear in his wife’s eyes, but when she straightens up she’s composed herself, although she still can’t seem to stop smiling. She catches Ted’s gaze over Sirius’ shoulder, and her eyes soften.

“Ted, come here,” she says. “I want Sirius to meet his cousin.”

Ted maneuvers Nymphadora into Andromeda’s arms, hesitantly at first, but Andromeda cradles her gently, rocking her back and forth. 

Nymphadora sighs contentedly in her sleep as Sirius tickles her under the chin. “She’s a cute one,” he says. “Well done, you two. Guess it all worked out in the end, eh?”

Andromeda makes a noise that’s almost a laugh. Ted watches her closely, wondering what she’s thinking, if she’ll rebuke her cousin for his rose-tinted way of looking at things. She just shakes her head slightly, still smiling. Between them, their daughter gurgles.

“We get by,” Andromeda says softly, resting her head on Ted’s shoulder, and he thinks, it’s good enough.

::

That night in bed, Andromeda doesn’t shirk away from him for the first time in months. She meets him kiss for kiss and touch for touch, and it’s a better end to the day than Ted could have dared to hope for. It feels like he’s got his wife back, and not the cold, hardened woman who has been wearing her face all this time.

They lay in comfortable silence afterwards, only speaking when Andromeda casts a quick Contraceptive Charm.

“Thought you said that ruined the moment?” he teases, kissing her on top of the head.

“Well, you know,” she says, and even in the dark he knows she’s blushing. “I don’t want Nymphadora to be a big sister just yet, thank you very much.”

“Oh, not yet?” Ted says, hoping for an airy tone. “But not…not ever?”

“No, not ever. Just let’s wait a while. Can you do that?”

“I’m a Hufflepuff,” he says, pretending to be offended. “Patience is part of the parcel, darling.”

She brings her knees up to his stomach, pressing her cold toes into his skin, and he shrieks in a way that is distinctly unmanly and scoots away from her. 

“Slytherins are evil,” he says, and her answering cackle does nothing to dissuade him of this opinion. 

::

Sirius stays with them for a week, and after the first two days Ted gets used to coming down in the morning to find Sirius already up. He’s usually raiding their fridge with a look like he’s never been fed a day in his life. Once or twice Ted’s caught him poking suspiciously at the battered black-and-white television that sits in a corner of the living room and that they hardly ever use.

“Put it on, if you like,” Ted offers the first time. “Big button there, just press it.”

“Nah, my mate Remus has told me about these things,” Sirius says, drawing away from the set with a distrustful look. “They sound weird.”

Ted laughs. “’Meda doesn’t like it much, but I suppose it’s just one of those Muggle comforts I couldn’t part with. Sometimes the white noise soothes Nymphadora.”

Sirius just stares at him uncomprehendingly. Ted supposes he’s never heard the words ‘Muggle’ and ‘comfort’ next to each other in a sentence before. He makes a mental note to show Sirius his old cassette deck later, just for a laugh. 

::

The third day, Ted walks into the living room to find Sirius sprawled out on their hideously floral armchair that his Aunt Helen gave them as a moving in present that they were too hard-up to refuse. One leg on the floor, one draped over the arm of the chair, Sirius is cradling Nymphadora in his arms and feeding her a bottle, apparently quite content.

Ted blinks at the sight for a moment, rubs at his sleep-heavy eyes, and then starts forward. “Sirius, mate, you don’t have to do that. Sorry if she woke you.” 

He holds his arms out for his daughter, but Sirius just grins, shifting Nymphadora further into the crook of his arm. 

“I was up anyway; I didn’t want to disturb you. You’ve both been great, letting me stay, so it’s the least I can do. Besides, Drom showed me how to prepare her bottles last night. Think she was hinting.”

“About time you paid your way,” Andromeda says, coming into the room still in her dressing gown, dark hair ruffled at the back and and grinning through her yawn. “She likes you, anyway,” she adds, as Nymphadora’s few strands of wispy hair start to turn luminous yellow.

::

On the fourth day, it rains incessantly. 

Sirius, face right up to the windowpane, eyes a bead of rain as it trickles down the glass. “I’m bo-red,” he says.

“Go start on your reading for school,” Andromeda says reflexively, not looking at him. 

Sirius glares at her, throws himself on the armchair with dramatic force, and exhales so hard that a strand of dark hair swishes away from his forehead in one sulky movement. Andromeda, not impressed, continues to ignore him.

“I’m going to go play with Nym,” Sirius announces.

“Don’t you dare,” Ted and Andromeda chorus together. Andromeda continues, “She’s only been asleep for twenty minutes. If you wake her, I will kill you. Also, her name is Nymphadora.”

Ted smirks to himself. Privately, he thinks the nickname that Sirius has bestowed upon his daughter is quite sweet, but he’d never admit it in front of his wife. 

“Well, can I take her for a walk later on?” Sirius asks, and Ted realises he’s looking at him for an answer, not at Andromeda. 

It’s Andromeda that answers though. “No.”

“Just to the park! I won’t lose her or anything, for Merlin’s sake! She must be bored too, stuck in this house all the bloody time.” 

Ted can see from his expression that Sirius realises he’s gone too far; he seems to shrink back into the armchair, but his eyes still flash. Andromeda puts her book down and stares at him silently for a full minute in which even Ted starts to feel uncomfortable. He wonders if this is discipline in the Black household, stony silences and impressive glares and unspoken layers of guilt, and thinks it’s no wonder these two are wound so tight. 

Sirius seems to be bracing himself for a telling off, but Andromeda merely says, quite calmly but no less chillingly, “Please go upstairs, Sirius,” and he skulks out of the room with his head bowed.

“You’re going to be bloody terrifying when Nymphadora is older,” Ted tells her.

She gives him a look that lets him know she’s in no mood for games. “Yesterday I was the favourite cousin, the great Drom.” She sighs heavily. “Now I’m terrifying and pushing the only member of my family who still speaks to me away.”

“Hey, not the only family member,” Ted says gently. “And don’t beat yourself up - you’re quite right, he can’t just waltz off whenever he wants.”

“Yes, but he doesn’t know why. It’s hardly fair on him, keeping him locked up in this house.”

“You could…tell him?”

Andromeda frowns. “He’s thirteen, Ted.”

“He’s an angry, bored, cooped-up Black. I know from experience that’s not a good combination.”

Andromeda sighs again. “Why are you always right?”

::

Sirius’ trunk is halfway packed, clothes and schoolbooks strewn over the bed, when he looks up to see Andromeda in the doorway, watching him closely.

“Running away, are we?” she asks, eyebrows raised. 

“You don’t want me here,” Sirius mutters, shoving some robes into the trunk.

Andromeda sits on the bed, closing the trunk lid. “Don’t be so dramatic. Of course I want you here. There’s just - some things I need you to understand.” Sirius stills in the act of searching under the bed for something, and looks up at her warily, getting to his feet. He doesn’t say anything, and Andromeda pauses for a moment before continuing. “You know how angry everyone was when I married Ted and left home. It’s made things a bit difficult.”

“Because he’s Muggle-born,” Sirius says bluntly.

“Yes,” Andromeda says. “Which is absolute rot, because Ted’s an amazing wizard, and it doesn’t matter one bit about who ones parents are, or where we came from. Do you understand that?”

Sirius holds his hands up; Andromeda’s look is piercing. “Hey, don’t need to convince me,” he says with a shaky laugh. “I already know our family’s view of the world is a bit twisted, Drom.”

A smile blooms, sudden and unexpected, on his cousin’s face, and she sighs . “Good,” she says. “That’s very good. But - some people are still angry, Sirius, about what I did. That’s why we don’t go out very much, Ted and I. Why we keep Nymphadora inside a lot.”

“So you’re just hiding here?” Sirius asks.

“Not hiding. Just - laying low. We don’t want to exactly advertise our new address, if you see what I mean. And having a daughter who can turn her hair fluorescent colours sort of makes it hard to slip under the radar when we’re out and about.”

“That doesn’t seem very brave to me,” Sirius says, wrinkling his nose.

Something flickers in Andromeda’s eyes, something dark and mercurial; for a moment it’s easy to remember why people used to mistake her for Bella. Andromeda lifts her chin, stares him down. 

“And are you the expert on bravery, just because you Sorted different to us all?” 

Sirius frowns. “No. No, Drom, I didn’t mean to offend you -”

Andromeda seems as if she’s re-emerging from a deep pool; she gives herself a little shake. “No need to apologise. I’m afraid I’ve not been myself lately. Ted says it’s the stress, and I suppose he must be right. Things are quite tense as of late.”

“But it’s over,” Sirius says; as he says it, he realises it comes out more as a question than a statement. Andromeda is looking at him in a way that makes him feel infinitely younger than her, and he hates it, hates that obviously something is going on and yet no one thinks to tell him exactly what that something is. “You’re out, you left,” he continues stubbornly. “You have the husband, the baby, a whole new life!”

“Not entirely of my choosing,” she shoots back at once. “Do you think I relished leaving my younger sister, you, Reggie - Merlin, even Bella! I know very well what has become of my name on that tapestry your mother loves so much, Sirius. Gone, as if I never was. I married the man I love, I told my parents their views are sick, and now I can’t even take my daughter for a walk without fearing that my own family might be waiting to harm us. You have no idea how it feels, Sirius. So do not presume to sit there and lecture me about _bravery_.”

Sirius feels the heat on his face as he glares at the bed cover. He used to wind Narcissa up something awful until she snapped, and he and Bella repeatedly clashed when younger, but Andromeda has never once raised her voice to him. 

“Surely you don’t think that our family would cause you any harm,” he says quietly. 

He thinks of the night when the news that Andromeda had left reached them at Grimmauld Place; of Mother’s raging, Uncle Cygnus’ cold indifference, Bella’s frightening silences and the cold, dead look in her eyes, and suddenly he’s not so sure himself. 

Andromeda is silent for a moment, and then, “I don’t know what they’re capable of anymore, Sirius. My sister is not the person I used to know,” and Sirius knows instantly that she’s not referring to Narcissa. 

“I saw her, last month,” Sirius offers after an uncomfortable pause. “At - at the wedding.” He has avoided the topic of Narcissa and Lucius’ wedding over the past few days, not wanting to hurt Andromeda’s feelings by bringing it up. He knows now he was right to, as Andromeda winces as though he struck her, but he carries on, a nagging feeling in his gut telling him he needs to confide in someone. “She told me Mother plans to betroth me to someone, and then started saying that there were other options, if I wanted them. She said she wanted to go in a more political direction, and something about wanting to change the world. She wasn’t talking about being in the Ministry, was she?”

Andromeda looks at him sharply, and there’s something else there too, something that might be fear, and Sirius feels as if there’s a knot in his chest tightening until he can’t breathe. 

“No, I don’t believe she was,” Andromeda replies stiffly, sounding as if every word is an effort. She stands up, cups Sirius’ cheek in one hand. “I’m sorry I snapped at you, Sirius. It does no good to fall out with one another. We have to stick together.”

“The Black black sheep?” Sirius jokes half-heartedly.

“Quite right,” Andromeda says, and manages a smile, although it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

::

That night, Sirius lays in his narrow bed, watching the sliver of the moon he can see high in the sky from the window, and wonders how Remus is. He misses his friends, and misses them even more knowing that they’re now all together at the Potter’s. They’d had precisely three days together, all four of them, before Andromeda’s owl arrived inviting him to stay with them.

Two more days left with Andromeda, and he’ll be back with his mates again. He can’t wait - Mrs Potter even said they’d see them on to the train back to school on September 1st; he feels a sudden rush of giddiness knowing he’ll have managed to successfully avoid going home all summer. 

He hears muffled voices from next door, steadily rising in volume, and knows he’s not the only one who can’t sleep. He gets out of bed carefully, moving closer to the wall that separates his room from Andromeda and Ted’s. 

“ - it doesn’t mean that, ‘Meda, not necessarily -”

“Be realistic, it doesn’t very well mean she’s running for Minister, does it.” Andromeda’s voice sounds bitter, angry. “My own sister! I knew - knew she agreed with it, but to actually join. Ted, it’s sick!”

Ted’s voice quietens; Sirius strains to hear him properly, but can’t quite make it out. Something about - something about Dumbledore, it sounds like, but what the Headmaster has to do with his cousins Sirius can’t imagine.

“I’ll have to, won’t I? It’s not hard evidence, one conversation with a thirteen year old that doesn’t know anything, but - he has to know what I suspect. I can’t -”

What Andromeda can’t Sirius never finds out; a cry arises from the direction of Nymphadora’s nursery, and Ted and Andromeda quieten abruptly. Their bedroom door opens with a creak; Sirius sees the light from the hallway flooding underneath his own door, and listens to the quick footsteps heading in the direction of the nursery - Andromeda’s, he guesses. 

Suddenly cold, Sirius returns to bed. His head hurts from trying to process everything he’s heard today, a mine of information he can’t quite piece together. By now he’s certain that Andromeda is holding back from telling him everything, and he can’t help but feel disgruntled at being left in the dark. A thirteen year old that doesn’t know anything. 

He frowns at the insult, turning on to his side, away from the moon and the stars. He’ll talk it over with Mr and Mrs Potter when he gets back to Maidstone, he decides. He’s seen the way they answer all of James’ questions without hesitation, never once thinking he’s too young for the truth. That’s a real family, he thinks sulkily, a family that includes everyone, not like his own, far flung into different corners of the country, shrouded in secrets.

He finally falls into a fitful sleep, and wakes early the next morning feeling as if he hasn’t slept at all. He heads downstairs still in his pyjamas, and halts suddenly on the second to last step. 

Andromeda is already up, dressed in a dress of deep purple; her hair is up in a bun, her wand stuck through it for safe-keeping. Her expression means business. 

“We’re going to Diagon Alley,” she tells him. “Hurry along and get dressed; we need to leave in five minutes.”

“I - I thought I was getting the Knight Bus to Diagon tomorrow,” he says, frowning. 

“Change of plans. I’ve packed your trunk, and sent the Potter’s an owl to meet you at ten o’ clock.”

“You’re kicking me out?” Sirius asks in disbelief, and Andromeda’s expression softens a bit.

“Of course not, sweetling,” she says. “It’s just important we go to Diagon as soon as possible, and it makes sense for you to leave now, with us, rather than having to make two trips - besides, I thought you’d prefer to travel by Floo, rather than that awful bus.”

“You did say you wanted a trip out somewhere,” Ted says, appearing from the kitchen with a slice of toast in one hand, holding Nymphadora in his free arm. He winks at Sirius, and then something clicks in Sirius’ brain; he’s seeing the Potter’s today. He’s seeing James and Remus and Peter.

“Right you are,” he says with a grin, and scrambles back up the stairs at once. 

It takes him no time at all to throw on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt he picked up in a Maidstone Muggle shop with James, and to have a quick double-check of the room, but Andromeda has indeed already packed all his things away. He’s back downstairs just as Andromeda is throwing a handful of powder into the fireplace, and then she steps into the emerald green flames with Nymphadora tightly clutched to her.

“The Leaky Cauldron,” Andromeda says firmly, and disappears into the flames. 

“Isn’t it - dangerous, to travel with a baby?” Sirius asks with a nervous glance at Ted.

Ted grins. “She’s a Tonks; we’re pretty indestructible.” He holds out a pot of Floo powder and shakes it encouragingly. “Your turn.”

Sirius chucks the powder into the fireplace, and the flames leap up instantly, tickling him gently as he walks into them. He says, loudly, “The Leaky Cauldron,” and has a brief glimpse of Ted’s grinning face, of the lurid floral armchair, before the living room is gone from sight, replaced by the whizzing of numerous other fireplaces, until he finally arrives at his destination.

Coughing slightly, closing his eyes against the soot - The Leaky Cauldron fireplace isn’t the cleanliest - Sirius feels a hand clutch his. “Thanks, Drom,” he says, and then hears an amused chuckle that is definitely not Andromeda.

“My pleasure,” says the voice, deep and rich, and Sirius realises he’s being helped out of the fireplace by Albus Dumbledore.

“What are you doing here?” Sirius asks before he can stop himself. There’s something decidedly weird and not right at all about seeing your headmaster out of school, and in a pub of all places.

“Sirius, manners,” Andromeda says from behind Dumbledore, clucking in disapproval.

Dumbledore doesn’t seem to take offense. “I find as the years go on I am unable to resist a mid-week tipple every now and then. We all have our weaknesses, do we not, and Tom serves the most irresistible gin and lemon tonic that I am particularly fond of.”

Tom, the balding barman, smiles in a long suffering sort of way whilst pointing his wand at a crate of glasses, cleaning them all. Sirius glances around, and can’t help but notice that the rest of the pub is entirely empty. He’s never been here before personally, but knows that Peter has accompanied his father here numerous times, and knows that it’s not normally empty, especially this close to school starting again.

There’s a whooshing noise from the fireplace and Ted appears. He doesn’t seem surprised to see Dumbledore at all, and shakes his hand warmly, a smile on his face.

“It’s wonderful to see you again, Ted,” Dumbledore says. “It’s good that you’re both doing well.”

“It’s not been easy, Dumbledore,” Andromeda says archly. “This is the first time we’ve been somewhere so open in a long time.”

“We’re grateful you agreed to see us on such short notice though,” Ted jumps in quickly, with a glance at his wife, but again Dumbledore doesn’t appear to have been offended by Andromeda’s snippy tone. “And Tom - we appreciate it’s not exactly great for business, so, um, thank you.”

“Not at all, lad. Can I get you anything?” he asks hopefully.

Dumbledore looks set to open his mouth to order, but Andromeda cuts across him. “Actually, we’re going to make this as quick as possible. Ted, why don’t you take Sirius to get his books, and I’ll stay here with Nymphadora and we -” she glances pointedly at Dumbledore, who has closed his mouth and seems to be mourning the loss of his gin and lemon tonic, “- can discuss what we came here for.”

“Righty-o,” Ted says cheerfully, but Sirius is frowning.

“Wait, wait - that’s it? I can’t stay and find out what all this is about? I know something is going on,” he says hotly, and then looks at Dumbledore, frustration making him bold. “Professor, you know I can keep a secret.”

Dumbledore fixes him with a clear blue stare. “I know very well you can be trusted with information of a delicate nature, Mr Black,” he says seriously. “However, there is a difference between working out some secrets by yourself, and being told outright about other confidential information, and I trust you would not question my judgement about when I deem it appropriate to share such information with not-yet Third Year students.”

Sirius looks at his shoelaces, knowing he’s gone too far, and mumbles, “Of course. Sorry, Sir.”

“Not at all. Oh, and by the way, I thought it would be easier to hand-deliver this to you today, given that I knew I would be seeing you.” Dumbledore passes him a letter, and says, eyes twinkling, “Your book list for the coming year. I confess a surprised delight about your decision to take Muggle Studies.”

Andromeda gapes at him. “You’re taking Muggle Studies?” she asks in disbelief, and Ted laughs loudly.

“A fascinating subject,” Dumbledore says brightly. “Professor Laughton will be delighted to have you as a student.”

Sirius grins. “Thanks, Professor.” He looks across at Andromeda, who is still looking as if she doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Well, is this is it, then?”

“We’ll see each other again soon,” she says, stepping forward to hug him. Her grip is tight, her perfume almost overwhelming. “Hopefully sooner, rather than later. When Nymphadora is a bit older, perhaps you can take her on that walk you mentioned.”

Sirius smiles down at Nym - her hair now the colour of raspberries, her eyes the same shade of grey as his - and she giggles, waving a pudgy fist in the air. Dumbledore waves cheerily, and Sirius follows Ted, a bit reluctantly, out of the door and into the courtyard to a large brick wall. He glances at his watch - a Muggle one gifted to him by Ted, who’d seemed amused at how intrigued Sirius had been about all the dials and cogs - and sees it’s almost ten. The Potter’s will be waiting for him, and James will be there. He’s had a strange sense of lingering unease ever since yesterday, but now he shakes it off, starts feeling excited that soon he’ll be back with his friends, and then back at Hogwarts. He fidgets restlessly, watches as Ted taps the wall with his wand, and together they step through the entrance to Diagon Alley.


	18. potter family secrets.

_August 1973._

Diagon Alley materialises in front of them, and Sirius finds himself dazzled by a sudden onslaught of colourful shops; some with vibrant posters and banners in their windows that shout out their newest deals; others with the shop-owners stood in the entranceway, calling to potential customers as shoppers hurry by on the cobbled streets. 

The emptiness of The Leaky Cauldron had been deceiving: Diagon Alley is packed. There’s a queue winding out of the door for Flourish and Blotts, and there’s a crowd of young witches and wizards with their faces pressed close to the window display of Quality Quidditch Supplies, all talking in loud, excited voices about the new Cleansweep model. Sirius spares a glance as he and Ted walk by, but doesn’t bother to stop - he and James have both got the newest edition in the Nimbus series, easily the best brooms on the Gryffindor team, and probably the reason why their team won so many matches last year.

“Did you play Quidditch, Ted?” Sirius asks as they make their way up the street, past the squawking and screeching coming from Eeylops.

“Wasn’t for me, I’m afraid,” Ted answers with a small shrug. “Never saw the fuss. Give me a good old game of footy any day.”

Sirius is just trying to recall what little information he has learnt from Remus over the last two years about the mind-boggling game when he hears his name being shouted. Looking up quickly, ignoring the protests of his painfully cricking neck, he sees James at the front of Gringott’s, waving madly, sandwiched in between his parents; Mrs Potter is waving almost as eagerly as her son, standing on tiptoes to see over the sea of shoppers, and Mr Potter, tall and therefore easily able to see across the crowds, raises a hand in greeting, smiling gently.

“Sirius, m’boy,” Mr Potter says when Sirius reaches them, grasping his hand. “Glad to have you back.”

Mrs Potter hugs him, and Sirius returns it somewhat stiffly, patting her on the back. His own mother has never been very free-flowing with her embraces, and the first time James’ mum ever hugged him he hadn’t known what to do, had just kept his hands firmly at his sides, but he thinks he’s getting a bit better now. 

With James it’s easier - it’s always easy with James - and Sirius returns his stupid, ear-splitting grin and claps him on the back. He hears a slight cough from behind him, and remembers Ted, quickly introducing him to the Potter’s.

“I remember you,” Ted says as he shakes James’ hand. “Your first year, I came out of the Hufflepuff common room and caught you trying to figure out how to get into the kitchens.”

“Oh, yeah,” James says with a sheepish grin, glancing at his parents. Mrs Potter tuts without any real feeling behind it; Mr Potter is pointedly looking away, still smiling. “Yeah, you docked me five points. I worked out the way to get in eventually, though.”

“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t,” Ted replies affably. “Anyway, Sirius. Guess this is it, mate.”

“See you in a minute,” James says in Sirius’ ear, before he and his parents draw away, leaving Sirius and Ted alone.

“Thanks for everything, Ted,” Sirius says. “I mean it. And sorry about - you know, if I upset Drom at all.”

Ted waves his apology away. “Are you kidding me? Mate, you made her month. We loved having you. You’re a hit with Nym at any rate.”

“Nym?” Sirius tries not to laugh, imagining Andromeda’s expression if she could hear her husband now.

Ted winks. “Take that to your grave, Sirius Black. Seriously, you’re welcome anytime, yeah? Well,” he amends after a beat, “when things have died down a bit, you know.”

Sirius resists the urge to point out that no, he doesn’t know, that no one has actually told him what these things are. It hardly seems the time to be pedantic and snippy though, not when he’s unsure about when the next time they’ll see each other will be, so instead he smiles, shaking Ted’s hand. 

Ted grins, says, “Have a good Third Year, Sirius,” and then is gone with a _crack_.

::

After a quick trip to Gringotts, James and Sirius meet up with Peter and Remus where they’d left them earlier. Through the clamour of students all swarming the book-piled tables in Flourish and Blotts, James spots Remus, leaning against a bookshelf and casually flipping through a copy of _Numerology and Grammatica_ whilst Peter lingers next to him, rolling his eyes at Remus’ obliviousness to his crushed surroundings.

“Hey, look what I found,” James says over the noise of everyone else in the shop, tugging Sirius by the arm.

Peter waves with the one arm that isn’t laden with a basket of books. “Don’t expect an answer from him,” he says as Sirius and James come to stand before them, indicating Remus. “I think his plan is to finish the whole reading list before we get to school.”

“Before I even get on the Hogwarts Express, if I can manage,” Remus says wryly, a smile spreading on his face even though he still appears engrossed in his book. After a few more seconds reading, he carefully inserts a red and gold bookmark into the pages and closes the book, finally looking up at Sirius and James. “Hullo, Sirius. How was your stay?”

He doesn’t mention Andromeda or Ted, or the exact location, and Sirius is grateful, knowing that anyone might be listening here in this crush. “It was good, thanks.” He won’t go into the finer details here; better to wait until they’re safely back at the Potter’s. “So. You finally decided on Arithmancy, then?” he asks, pointing to the book; Remus had spent the last few weeks of last year after exams picking apart the pros and cons of each elective subject.

“You’re a nutter,” James says fondly, shaking his head.

“You’re the ones that we’re foaming at the mouths about owning the biting books,” Remus counters, nodding in the direction of where the shopkeepers have caged the copies of _The Monster Book Of Monsters_. 

Sirius laughs, and on impulse throws an arm around Remus, knocking their heads gently together. It feels good to be back with them all. “It’s all so we can learn how to better care for you, darling,” he purrs.

Remus disentangles himself, pink patches appearing on his cheeks as he shoves lightly at the other boy, muttering “shush,”, although he’s smiling.

“Boys,” Mrs Potter is calling, and all four of them turn to find her. She’s stood by the cage of growling books, beckoning them closer. “Boys, time to get your copies!” 

The grim-faced shopkeeper mops sweat from his brow and seems to ready himself for the task of procuring four books; he’s holding a long pointed staff in one hand, and his wand in the other.

Sirius swaps an excited look with James, who is grinning hugely, and Sirius knows they’re thinking the same thing. 

“ _Brilliant_.”

::

The evening before they all go back to Hogwarts, they all cram themselves in James’ room. Peter and Remus have been staying in the spare room while Sirius shares a room with James, but tonight they’ve bundled all their duvets and sleeping bags and pillows together on the floor. The rain is beating a steady pattern against the window, and it’s nice and familiar, all being together, like being back in their dormitory in Gryffindor Tower a day early.

Sirius has once again managed to spread himself over most of the bed, leaving James sat with his knees up to his chest, back against the headboard. Remus has taken the chair by James’ desk, nose in a book again, and Peter is cross-legged on a cushion the floor, folding socks and chucking them into his trunk.

“The pictures don’t move,” Sirius says indignantly, after a good ten minutes is spent prodding and poking his copy of _An Introduction To Muggle History_. He rifles in his bag, producing _Explaining Electricity_ and _Muggles: How Do They Do It?_ and gives them a similar inspection. He holds the books by their spines and gives them a good shake, ruffling the pages; from his place on the chair, a nerve twitches involuntarily in Remus’ eye. 

“What did you expect, Sirius, they’re about Muggles,” James says, catching Peter’s eye and smirking. 

He can’t help but nearly laugh; he supposes after the excitement of their Care Of Magical Creatures books, the unmoving Muggle Studies books do seem a bit bland in comparison. Trust Sirius to leave it to the night before school starts to even look at his textbooks. 

“Pff.” Sirius shoves the books to one side, looking distinctly put out. “I wanted diagrams. Like, there’s a section on their modes of transport, and this thing called a motorbike looks ace. I wanted to see it move.”

“Getting into this Muggle lark, aren’t you?” Peter observes, balling up his last pair of socks.

“Only because it’ll drive my mother bonkers when she finds out,” Sirius says with a shrug. “I imagine I’ll just ask you and Moony for revision. Or maybe Evans,” he adds thoughtfully. 

“Lily hates you.”

“Hey now,” Sirius says, frowning. “Hate is a bit harsh. I mean, what did she call me last year -”

“Insufferable?” Remus puts in, speaking for the first time since they arrived home, before he was lost to the books. “Annoying, aggravating, conceited - oh, whoops, sorry, that last one was James -” He lifts the book up to shield his face, reflexes lighting quick, as James launches a shoe at his head.

“I am not conceited,” James says with a sulky glare, slumping back against the headboard.

Sirius leans forward to pat him on the head, giving Remus a stern look. “Oh, Moony, look how he wilts. He’s fragile.”

“My apologies,” Remus says, completely without remorse. “Although, now you mention it, maybe Lily would give the both of you more thought if you stopped dangling Snape from the chandeliers every once in a while, or hexing the suits of armour to make retching noises whenever he walks by.”

A misty-eyed, nostalgic look appears on Peter’s face. “That was a good one,” he says with a dreamy sigh.

Sirius grins. “Anyway, we don’t care what Evans thinks. Right, James?”

James shrugs noncommittally, running a hand through the back of his hair. He avoids looking anywhere near Remus, who he just knows has his disbelieving expression on. 

“Yeah,” James says lazily. “Whatever.”

A comfortable silence falls over the room, the only sound coming from the occasional rustle of a page being turned, the rain from outside or Sirius’ leg twitching restlessly, until there’s a firm knock on the door and the sound of James’ dad’s voice.

“James? Can I have a word, son?” Jasper Potter sticks his head around the door, looking serious.

Sirius looks at James as if asking “what have you done now?” and James shrugs in return, mystified. Still he gets up off the bed and follows his dad across the landing and into his study. 

The room is full wall-to-wall with shelves containing books, Muggle and magical alike; James spent many hours in here when he was a small boy, fingers brushing over the strange titles. _The Three Musketeers_. _Lord of The Flies_. _A Tale of Two Cities_. These and many more all jumbled in with _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_ , _Quidditch Through the Ages_ , and all of the countless books on spells, Wizarding history and genealogy. 

Once, James asked his dad why they had Muggle books, and what the point was - Jasper Potter had smiled, told his son to pick a book and give it a go; he’d left the room and left James to it, and had returned four hours later to find his son cross-legged on his desk, a sizeable chunk of the way through _The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn_. James had spent the rest of that month trying to build his own raft across the river near their house and nearly drowning a fair few times, and not long after his discovery of the adventure books in his dad’s study and the hours spent pouring over the tiny print and funny, unmoving illustrations, he’d had to have his first eye-test. 

Jasper sits down at his large wooden desk, indicating the seat across from it, which James perches on, eyeing his dad expectantly. For a long time his dad says nothing, just continues to look at James with that strange, unreadable smile; James is just starting to fidget, to wonder if maybe he has done something wrong and can’t remember it. He’s glancing down at his hands, ready to apologise in advance over whatever it is he’s done, when his dad clears his throat. When James looks up, his dad’s smile has grown, and James thinks he can’t be in trouble because his dad doesn’t look stern at all; in fact, he looks excited, eyes shining behind his round glasses.

“Would you like to know a secret?”

::

“You lucky bugger,” Sirius breathes, punching his arm. “Do you have any idea how rare these things are?”

James grins in response, running the feather-light, transparent fabric of the cloak through his hands. 

“It’s amazing,” Peter says squeakily. “Put it on again, James!”

James obliges readily, whipping the cloak around his shoulders and laughing with delight as everything from his neck down disappears from view. Sirius and Peter whoop in excitement, but Remus is staring at James’ floating head with his lips pursed.

“Sirius is right,” he says. “Invisibility Cloaks are invaluable. Where’d your dad even get one of these?”

James takes the cloak off, handing it to Sirius who eagerly pulls it on. “Family heirloom,” he says. “Been in the Potter family for generations. I can’t believe he never told me about it before!”

From the corner of the room Sirius’ voice comes, booming and deep. “I am the ghost of Potter House. Muhahaha!” 

Peter jumps as suddenly as if someone has struck him - which, of course, they have. “Leave off, Sirius,” he says, rubbing the side of his face. “Let me have a turn, stop hogging it!”

“Chill out,” Sirius says, reappearing very close to Remus, who takes a hasty step back from his sudden close proximity. He throws the cloak at Peter, and there’s a brief glimpse of something shimmering in the air, before the cloak lands on Peter’s head and all they can see is his torso and legs. 

“This is wild,” Peter’s voice says, as his feet turn so that they’re pointed in the direction of James’ mirror hanging on the wall.

“Did he say why he gave it to you now?” Remus questions, giving Peter’s body parts a dubious look before sitting on the bed and staring at James. 

James shrugs. “Nah. Just said he thought it was about time I had it. Said to make use of it. You know what that means, right boys?”

“I have a feeling you’re not about to say ‘to store in safe-keeping until it becomes apparent you really need it’.”

“Merlin’s trousers, Moony, are you actually a teenage boy at all?” Sirius demands roughly. “Use your head. This is amazing. We’ll be the only people at school with anything like this. It means we get to wander around school after curfew without worrying old Filch will find us.”

Remus is biting down on his bottom lip, a frown-line appearing between his eyebrows. Peter hands the cloak back to James, who folds it and clamps it tightly under one arm. His dad did mention a fair few things along the lines of responsibility, and of not being careless with the cloak, but at this moment in time James has Sirius next to him, his eyes glazed with excitement, and Peter who looks flushed and awestruck, and it’s hard not to get caught up in all the possibilities.

“We can set off all the dungbombs we want and no one would ever know it was us.”

“We can follow a Slytherin to their common room and learn their password!” 

“We can sneak into other teams Quidditch practices and find out their strategies!” 

“We can get into the girl’s dormitory!”

Remus tsks, rather pointedly picking up his book and staring at the pages as though determined to block out his friends’ words. Sirius nudges James with his elbow, lowering his voice.

“Hey, James, you know what else will be easier now?” he says, his grey eyes trained on Remus. He’s grown suddenly serious, all business.

James is thankful that he and Sirius are so alike, that he doesn’t need Sirius to explain himself further because he knows exactly what his best friend is getting at. And Sirius is right: having the Invisibility Cloak will make it a lot simpler to gain access to the Restricted Section of the library, to find the books on Animagi. He grins at Sirius, and Sirius nods, knowing they’re both on the same page now. 

“Wicked,” James whispers, as excitement explodes in the pit of his stomach.


	19. back to hogwarts.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the start of the boys' Third Year, and there's trouble before they've even gotten on the train.

_September 1st 1973._

Peter wakes up in darkness and unable to breathe, his face obscured by something heavy and a rumbling noise all around him. It’s a bit disorientating at first, but then he remembers where he is, and realises that the rumbling noise is James’ snoring and that the something heavy is James Potter himself. Peter sits up, disentangling himself from where he had been wedged into the crook of James’ armpit, something that he should probably be disturbed by but actually has an odd sense of familiarity about it, and looks around at the mass of boy-bodies sleeping around him. 

The ability to fall asleep absolutely anywhere regardless of logic and comfort must be a requirement to being in their group, much like being able to devise great pranks and a hatred of all things greasy and large-nosed. Undisturbed by Peter freeing himself, James sleeps soundly on, mouth open. As the tallest of the four of them, his long legs are stretched out, his feet precariously close to Sirius’ nose, and Sirius himself has one arm flung out over Remus’ stomach.

James and Sirius are the only two people Peter knows who manage to make sleeping in a tangled crush on the floor look as comfortable as being on a featherbed. They manage to fall asleep just about anywhere, anytime - after Quidditch matches, still in their kit; after exams, often not even making it as far as the dormitory, just crashing out on the sofa in the common room; in lessons, particularly after the full moon, the only time the Professors are more lenient and wont to turn a blind eye to the prone bodies slumped at their desks at the back of the room. Indeed right now they look perfectly relaxed and at peace with the world. Remus is more guarded, curled up into a foetal, protective position, keeping to his own space whilst James and Sirius simply sprawl where they will, although Peter knows Remus is probably the best of them at roughing it when it comes to sleeping arrangements, and he’s probably woken up in places and situations the other boys can’t imagine.

From downstairs he can smell breakfast cooking, and his stomach gives an approving rumble in anticipation. Someone - most likely Mrs Potter - has put all four of their trunks by the door, ready to go. Clambering to his feet, Peter tries not to step on any of his mates as he makes his way to the window; he accidentally treads on Sirius’ leg and nearly stumbles, but Sirius just rolls over, mumbling something about bludgers. 

Out of the window Peter can see down into the green of the garden, still sparkly with dew. The Potter’s cat Hecuba is sat on the stone wall, watching intently as a gnome vaults over a rose bush and disappears into the hedge. Just out of view at the bottom of the garden is where Peter knows the stream is, and beyond that the expanse of fields they’ve been exploring for weeks. Of all four of them, Peter thinks he’s probably looking forward to returning to Hogwarts today the least, and a lot of that has to do with just how much he’s enjoyed being at the Potter’s this summer. 

James and Sirius, of course, shine at school - top of their classes, Quidditch players, unfailingly charming and somehow able to get away with a lot more than Peter would ever dare attempt when it came to testing the limits of their Professor’s patience - and Remus is the sort of boy that school is surely designed for. It’s not a struggle for them like it is for Peter. He’d be perfectly happy to stay here for a few more weeks, making jam and catching tadpoles in the stream for Mrs Potter’s potion brewing. If it wasn’t for his mates, making school bearable, Peter doubts he’d be looking forward to returning to the castle at all. 

Hopefully he’ll be able to visit again soon; the Potter’s has a certain easiness and warmth about it that Peter’s own house lacks. Especially since his dad left last year to live in Ipswich which Maureen. _Maureen the Muggle,_ Peter thinks glumly. Although he doesn’t have anything against Muggles - the whole of his dad’s family are non-magical - he still can’t quite wrap his head around why any wizard would abandon a witch for a life of the ordinary. But leave is what he did, and now Peter’s mum is even more unbearably controlling and all Peter gets from his dad now is the occasional letter and half-arsed invite to visit them sometime. Not bloody likely. Peter’s seen Maureen the Muggle in a photograph his dad sent, a photo of her and her daughter - Sharon or Stacy or something - and they both look more boring than toast. 

Peter makes a mental note to wrangle another summer invitation here before he leaves, and then with one last fond, wicked look at his peacefully sleeping friends, he yanks the curtains fully apart and lets the sunlight stream in.

“Agh!” yelps Sirius, trying to squirm away underneath Remus, who has thrown a hand over his eyes and is swearing under his breath. “The light - it burns, it burns!”

“You’re an evil man, Peter Pettigrew,” James says, his hair all on end and his eyes unfocused without his glasses and in the sudden glare of the morning sun.

Peter grins. “Morning all! Time to get ready for school.”

::

Mr and Mrs Potter go first through the barrier at King’s Cross, and James and Sirius follow afterwards, both of them laughing, jostling and trying to race each other.

“Not very discreet, are they,” Peter says.

Next to him, Remus smiles, stretching the thin scar over his top lip - one of his newest additions. “Not sure they know the meaning of the word. Shall we?”

Peter glances around quickly, then nods. Remus strides forward, disappearing into the barrier, and Peter goes through at a bit of a jog. Once on the platform, he pushes his luggage cart towards where Mrs Potter is trying to flatten James’ hair, who tries ineffectually to swat her away before she pulls him forward into what looks like an extremely bone-crushing hug.

“Come on,” Remus murmurs. “Let’s put our cases on the train before she grabs us too.”

They pass Lily Evans on their way, standing with her parents who are gazing around in apparent delighted interest, and a blonde girl who looks decidedly uninterested to Peter. 

“Wonder who that is?” Peter says, nudging Remus, who gives the family a cursory glance before replying, “Petunia. Lily’s older sister. What? Don’t look so surprised; I do talk to Lily, you know.”

“She doesn’t seem very chirpy,” Peter observes. The sisters appear to be having some sort of whispered argument; Evans is getting redder and redder in the face while her sister gets whiter and more tight-lipped. 

“Families,” Remus says with a shrug. “Come on, don’t gawp at them.”

They hop on the the train and store away their trunks in the luggage rack; when they return to the platform the Evans sisters have stopped arguing, but there’s something new that’s hard not to gawp at.

The Black’s have arrived.

Peter has never seen Sirius’ parents before, but he recognises Regulus, straight-backed and a little rigid looking, walking in between a tall stern looking man with thick dark hair and a woman who would be pretty - no, beautiful - if not for her too sunken cheeks and the way her lip is curled in ill-disguised contempt for nearly everything she looks at. The crowd of people part for the family, some scuttling away nervously as they sweep almost majestically down the pathway made for them. 

“Uh-oh,” Remus says, and Peter sees he’s not looking at the Black’s - well, he’s looking at just one. “Sirius has spotted them.”

Sirius’ complexion has lost all colour; he makes an apparently involuntary jerking movement as if unsure whether or not to go to them. James has his hand on Sirius’ arm, and Mr Potter has a hand firmly on his shoulder. 

Peter groans, his stomach dropping, as she realises that the Black’s have spotted him too. He feels rooted in place, until Remus grabs him by the arm and pulls him in the direction of Sirius and the Potter’s. When they reach them, James is just letting go of Mr Black’s hand which, judging from the way he looks like he’s trying not to wipe his own hand on his jeans, he’s just been made to shake.

“It seems I must thank you for the hospitality you have shown my son this summer,” Mrs Black is saying to James’ parents, a smile on her face that doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Oh, really, it was no trouble at all,” Mrs Potter says, looking a bit uncertain and flustered that she’s having this conversation at all, and well she might. From what Sirius does say about his family, Peter’s gathered they’re not the types for idle chit-chat.

Next to Mrs Potter in her bright turquoise robes, her greying hair up in a messy bun, and Mr Potter in his Muggle bell-bottoms and jumper and his glasses a bit lopsided, the Black’s look ridiculously formal and misplaced.

Mr Black raises his eyebrows. “Sirius, no trouble?” he says. “That _is_ a surprise.”

Between his parents, Regulus smirks. Peter isn’t prone to - or even very good at - violence as a general rule, but right now he wants to kick Regulus Black very hard in the shin and see if the little git is still smiling then. He guesses Remus and James are probably thinking along similar lines, as when he glances at them, they’re both glaring at Regulus too, but Regulus, guarded safely between his parents, looks perfectly unfazed.

“No, really,” Mrs Potter says firmly, her voice getting more of an edge. “It was our pleasure. We’d love to have him any time.”

“Indeed.” Mrs Black’s cold eyes sweep over Sirius, who has thrown Mrs Potter a grateful look, and then her gaze falls upon Remus and Peter standing to the side of the group. “Ah. These must be more of your…friends, Sirius.”

“Yes,” Sirius grinds out. “They are. And before you ask,” he says, lifting his head and staring at his mother defiantly, “no, you wouldn’t know their parents.”

“I see,” Mrs Black says, and Peter finally feels his internal organs unfreeze as she looks away from them both, clearly uninterested. “Jasper,” she says, addressing James’ dad. “Do you see much of your cousin Magnus? His father married my aunt Dorea, you know. Small world, isn’t it?”

“In certain circles, yes,” Mr Potter says, expression neutral. “And no - Magnus is more like a second cousin, and we’ve never been close to that side of the family.”

“A pity,” Mrs Black says softly. 

Mr Potter cocks his head to one side, and Peter is amazed to see he’s smiling amiably, as if they’re having a simple chat. “It’s funny, I’ve never actually thought so.”

Mrs Black narrows her eyes. “I’m afraid Sirius won’t be able to visit next summer. He needs to spend time with his family.”

“You can’t -” Sirius begins furiously, but Mr Potter cuts across him, “Of course. You must have missed him terribly,” although Peter doesn’t miss the way Mr Potter’s hand tightens on Sirius’ shoulder, or the way his eyes have gone steely behind his glasses, all traces of friendliness, pretend or otherwise, gone. 

A warning whistle sounds, making Peter jump; he’d nearly forgotten where he was. Mrs Potter pulls Sirius into one last hug, and whispers something in his ear although Peter hasn’t a hope of hearing what it is with all the commotion on the platform. Sirius nods, and then heads towards the train, shoving past Regulus on his way past.

“A shame that a summer away has robbed him of all manners,” Mrs Black is saying in a disdainful voice as her and her husband guide Regulus towards the doors; even as they move away, her voice carries her disapproval for all to hear. “Just shows that clearly having a good name isn’t quite everything…”

James, white in the face with anger, makes as if to go after her, but Peter grabs him by the jacket. “Don’t be an idiot,” he says desperately; James shirks him off, scowling, but doesn’t have time to argue. His parents are ushering them on to the train as well, saying their goodbyes, instructing them to look after each other - above the slamming of doors Peter hears Remus promising that they always do, but James manages only a half-hearted wave once he’s on the train and then he’s striding into the next carriage, out of sight before the train has even moved out of the station.

“Bugger,” Remus says once he’s turned around and seen James isn’t there. “Where’d he go?”

Peter shrugs helplessly. “Gone to do Sirius-related control damage, I reckon.” He brings his thumb nail up to his mouth, a nervous habit he’s never been able to break no matter how many times his mum berates him for it. “They’re both really mad, aren’t they?”

Remus’ face is grim. “Let’s just hope we find them before the Prefects do, or we’ll be in negative points before we’ve got to Stevenage.”

It doesn’t take long at all; three carriages down, Peter spots a crush of people, and he knows as soon as he hears the mingled shouts and cheers that his friends will be there. Making use of being one of the shortest in their year, and employing Remus’ bony elbows, they fight their way to the front of the jostling, watching crowd to see Regulus Black on the floor, cradling his right hand in his left, a pained expression on his face. Sirius is standing over him, James by his side. For one moment Peter thinks that Sirius and James must have hit Regulus, but there’s no blood, and then Peter sees the state of Regulus’ hand - covered in large, extremely sore looking boils, and more erupting every second until they’re creeping up his wrist and disappearing into the sleeve of his robes. 

Remus starts to say, “Sirius, what —” but then the gaping crowd is pushed apart, and there’s a loud, commanding voice shouting, “All right, everyone back to your compartments! Go on, move! I said, _move!_ ”

A tall girl with her brown hair in a long plait over one shoulder appears, barking orders at the last reluctant stragglers. To Peter’s surprise, Frank Longbottom and Alice Thorne are right behind her, along with a blonde girl Peter doesn’t know. Alice and the blonde girl go to Regulus and kneel down beside him. Alice points her wand at his hand, muttering a spell; it must help, as Regulus hisses in relief, and the smell of burning flesh instantly lessens, to Peter’s immense relief. Frank rounds on Sirius and James; James, adopting his usual ‘who, me?’ expression, and Sirius clenching his jaw, clearly not going to back down. Peter starts forward, to go to his mates, but finds his way blocked by the first girl; she’s looming over Remus and Peter, eyebrows raised, and Peter realises that she’s waiting for _them_ to move as well.

“Show’s over, you two. Back to your compartment.”

“Ah, Emmeline, these four come as a unit,” Frank says apologetically.

“So do they want to share in their detention?” the blonde girl snaps, helping Regulus to his feet and glaring at Sirius and James.

Alice holds her hands up, placating the girl. “We’ll deal with them. They’re in our House; we’ll see to their punishment. Just make sure he’s all right,” she says, nodding at Regulus.

“Of course he’ll be all right,” Sirius sneers, his hands curled into fists. 

“Don’t push it, Black. Follow us, all four of you.” She leads them into an empty compartment, Frank following, and once the door is closed she wheels on them, looking angrier than Peter has ever seen her. She’s normally fairly easy-going, letting them get off with a light scolding most of the time, but now she has a look that would make McGonagall proud. “Are you all completely mad? Sirius, what were you thinking?”

“It was a family matter. Didn’t need you all to get involved.”

“You had your little dispute right by the Prefect’s carriage! What were we supposed to do, stand by while you turned your brother into a big pile of pus?”

“Who was that?” James asks, straightening his glasses. “The bossy bint, I mean.”

Frank says, frowning, “Enough of that, Potter. Emmeline Vance is Head Girl this year. She’s a Ravenclaw. She’ll be running a tight ship, and you’re already in her bad books.”

Sirius snorts, indicating how much that bothers him. 

“And the other girl? A Slytherin, right?” Peter guesses.

“Hester Greengrass. Yep, Slytherin Prefect.” Alice sighs, slumping down on to the seat and staring out of the window. “Emmeline had just started on a talk about upping the number of patrols the Prefects go on, and about how important keeping the peace between the Houses is, when we heard your little stunt. Now she’s going to have us patrolling through the night.”

Sirius shrugs, still looking murderous. Remus, however, asks, “Why are you upping the number of patrols?”

“Oh, you know. Just a precaution,” Frank says airily.

James frowns. “Precaution for what?”

“Look. You just need to stop hexing everyone who annoys you, all right? Bloody well, I don’t know, talk matters over or something before diving for your wand. Dumbledore won’t be standing for any nonsense this year, and neither will Emmeline. Hastings is Head Boy - a Hufflepuff, you’ll know him from Quidditch I expect - and he’s a stickler for rules too, so just watch your step.”

“Yes, Prefect Thorne,” James says, saluting.

“Get out,” Frank says, amiably enough, holding the door open for them. “Oh, and before I forget, boys - that’ll be ten points. Ta.”

“Term hasn’t even started!” 

Alice is massaging her temples. “I know, Lupin. _I know._ ”

::

They sit in a carriage with Marlene and a small, round-cheeked boy who glances up nervously when they enter. Sirius throws himself down, still in a mood, and lifts his legs up on to the opposite seat so that his bootlaces are tickling the boys’ elbow. The boy blinks rapidly and scoots nearer the window. Peter tries to give the boy a reassuring smile, but it doesn’t seem to comfort him any.

“Oi, manners, Black,” Marlene says, swatting at Sirius’ shoes with a rolled up copy of _The Daily Prophet_. “I’ll not have you corrupting my little brother with your uncouth ways. Lads, this is my brother Alfie. Alfie,” she drops her voice conspiratorially, exaggerating a wink, “these are the ones I was telling you about.”

Alfie’s eyebrows shoot up. He looks an odd mixture of impressed and nervousness. Peter can relate; he’d felt a similar thing when first confronted with Sirius and James.

“First year?” Remus asks kindly.

Alfie nods. 

“What House do you want?” says James.

“G-Gryffindor,” Alfie says squeakily. 

James grins. “Good man,” he says, and even Sirius manages a rough smile in Alfie’s direction. 

Alfie visibly relaxes, his shoulders slumping in his brand new, slightly too-big robes. He becomes slightly emboldened after that, asking questions about Hogwarts and the Sorting. Behind her newspaper, Marlene smirks and shakes her head at James’ description of the Sorting being an obstacle course in which you have to ride a broom, catch a nest of pixies and turn Dumbledore’s beard the exact right shade of purple.

“Carry on and his eyes are going to pop out,” Marlene says. “I’ve already told you, Alf; it’s just a hat.”

“I thought that sounded too simple,” Alfie says dubiously; he glances at James again, who mouths, “ _Obstacle course,_ ” whilst nodding knowledgeably.

Sirius juts his chin at Marlene’s newspaper, frowning. “Can I have a read after, Marls?” he says nonchalantly, but Peter notices how he suddenly sits up, leaning forward, eyes boring not into the headline, but at a side-article. Peter squints to read it, but can only make out the title of the article: _Is Our Future Safe?_

“Sure. Same old rubbish as ever. This Skeeter woman is a piece of work. Your cousin’s wedding had a whole three-page spread, did you read it?”

“Not likely. The experience in itself was enough.” 

Marlene hands the paper over, and Sirius turns to the right page. Peter cranes his neck to see, but can only read snatches of it as Sirius’ hands begin to shake. 

_Only 1 in 5 children born in Wizarding Britain last year were fully Pureblood…rapidly diluting magical genes…facing the end of our society as we know it…risk to exposing our world…_

“Who wrote this?” James asks in disgust.

“A. Rookwood,” Remus says, pointing. “Whoever he is. Sounds delightful.”

Sirius’ hands have stilled, an odd look on his face. He shoves the paper at Peter and glares out of the window. 

“Sirius, no one believes this rubbish,” he says. He’s aware that Alfie is watching the whole thing, wide-eyed. 

“You don’t know anything, do you, Peter? People _do_ believe it. That’s the whole point. Merlin, you’re an idiot sometimes.”

“Hey,” James says, a little sharply. “There’s no need to take it out on him. Just because another Pureblood basket case has his wand up his -”

“Alfie,” Marlene says quickly, digging in her pockets and dropping a few coins into her brothers’ hand. “Be a dear, go get some sweets. I think I heard the trolley a bit ago.”

“But I’m not —”

“Go,” Marlene says, more forcefully, and Alfie takes the money and jumps up, nearly tripping out of the compartment door. “All right, what’s going on? Sirius, you look set to murder someone, and if it’s going to be Pettigrew here I’d rather you do it away from my little brother, got it?”

_Oh, cheers_ , Peter thinks, a bit resentfully, because he gets the feeling that Marlene McKinnon has never particularly liked him, and it bothers him because he doesn’t know what he’s ever done to annoy her. But then sometimes he thinks he must annoy people just by being there, like now with Sirius, he’s gone and said the wrong thing and it’s ended up with one of his best mates looking at him like he has less brains than the Giant Squid. 

Sirius has a bit of a point though; Peter doesn’t know much about this sort of thing. Politics and all that. He doesn’t even read _The Prophet_ , only the comic strips and sometimes the sports pages, just to keep up to date when James starts raving about the latest match. He knows, from his friends talking about it, that there have been a few odd happenings over the summer, fires in London and an unexplained disappearance. He knows that some people dislike Muggle-borns - obviously he knows, from the way Snivellus and his stupid mates goad him in lessons, saying he’s useless because his dad has Muggle parents, and the way they whisper nasty things about other Muggle-borns - but then James says that’s all bollocks anyway, and he doesn’t care what stupid Slytherins have to say. James and Sirius are Pureblood, and they like him and Remus and they hate the people that say those things - so Peter doesn’t get why Sirius looks so angry, or Remus and James so worried. What’s the big deal? Like James says, it’s all a load of bollocks.

“Something’s going on,” Sirius says darkly. “At my cousin’s wedding, there were some gatecrashers. There was a fight, and something about ‘blood-traitors’. I don’t know who they were. And then when I went to stay with Andromeda and Ted, they met up with Dumbledore. Had some sort of secret meeting.”

“So?” Marlene asks.

“So,” Sirius says. “It’s all connected.”

“Is it?” James says, and Peter’s glad James said it and not him, because Sirius would probably hit him, but he just gapes open-mouthed at James. “I just mean, Sirius - a fight at a wedding and your cousin meeting up with Dumbledore. How is that connected, mate?”

“No - I know it sounds stupid - but it feels wrong, all of it. And stupid articles like _this_ cropping up. I think something is going on, and Dumbledore knows, that’s why he’s being so safety conscious.”

James and Remus exchange doubtful looks. Personally, Peter just thinks Sirius is wound up after the confrontation with his parents and brother; he thinks Sirius sees danger in every shadow after years of being around that crazy family of his; he thinks Sirius is just itching for a reason to fight, but of course he doesn’t say any of this. And anyway, he reasons, if anything dodgy is going on in the outside world, they’re going to Hogwarts; they’re safe as anything.

“I know it’s all a bit nasty,” James begins, “but —”

“Oh, whatever. Don’t patronise me, James. Fine. It’s all in my head, right?”

“Sirius —” Remus says gently, but Sirius turns his head to the window again, and doesn’t speak another word for the rest of the train ride.

::

They’re waiting for the horseless carriages to arrive when Peter hears footsteps behind them. He whips around, but it’s too late to give warning, and there’s already four wands pointing at them. In the twilight gloom he recognises Rosier and Wilkes from Slytherin, stood in front of Regulus Black, and a larger, older looking boy with a twisted smile.

“So, is four on one the Gryffindor definition of bravery?” the older boy asks; his dark eyes are focused on Sirius. “We thought we’d even the odds.”

“Oh, go jump in the lake, Avery,” James says indifferently, although Peter notices he’s got his own wand out. 

“You hired bodyguards now?” Sirius says to Regulus, lip curled. “Mother would be so proud to see you now, hiding behind these two.”

“I’m not hiding,” Regulus hisses, although he doesn’t bother to move closer to his brother.

“Better than you, hexing Regulus on the train when his back was turned,” Rosier says. “You’re nothing but a coward, Black.”

Peter glances around, but the pathway is deserted, everyone else in the carriages on their way to the castle. Sirius takes a step froward towards the other boys, but Remus places a hand on his arm.

“Sirius, think about this,” he mutters. “Ignore them. They’re not worth it.”

The Slytherins crow with laughter. “How sweet. The blood-traitor and the Mud!”

There’s a blast of bright light, and Avery lands on the floor with a shout. Peter turns, but Sirius hasn’t moved - James is stood, chest heaving, anger on his face. Rosier and Wilkes raise their wands, but before they can react there’s a cry of _“Levicorpus!”_ from behind them and James is hoisted into the air, twisting and swearing.

“Very fetching boxers, Potter,” Snape drawls, appearing with a smarmy grin just as another two carriages draw up in front of the scene.

“Was that one of yours, Snape? Nice one,” Wilkes says approvingly, holding Remus at bay with his wand.

Sirius is occupied with other things; he aims the counter-curse at James who falls to the floor in a heap, and he and Remus hurry to help him up. Avery is on his feet as well, and he gives Peter a look of pure disgust, like he’s not even worth cursing, before the Slytherins all get on to the carriage. Peter listens to their laughter until Sirius’ shouts startle him back to attention.

“Peter, why didn’t you hex them!” 

“It’s not his fault,” James says wearily. “Well, I guess Snivelly finally found a group to take him in. Good on them if they can cope with the smell.” He manages a small laugh, but then winces, feeling his ribs where he landed.

“Let’s get you to the castle,” Sirius says, eyeing him nervously. 

Peter feels as if he’s had a Body-Binding Jinx put on him. He shakes himself out of it, hating himself for being such a coward. He just froze, just stood there while his best friend was attacked. He clambers on to the carriage, avoiding looking at Sirius, and sits down next to James, who is still frowning in pain, his hand on his ribs.

“Sorry, James,” he mumbles. “Sorry I didn’t —”

“Hey, it’s all right,” James says. “I understand. I know you couldn’t have taken them.”

Peter knows James doesn’t mean it as a dig, that in his own way he’s trying to be reassuring, and somehow that makes it all the more unbearable. 

::

At the Sorting, when Bartemius Crouch Junior is placed in Slytherin, Sirius doesn’t even look up from his plate of food.

“What a surprise.”

Peter watches as the skinny boy takes his place next to Regulus. Mulciber and Wilkes clap him on the back, and he leans across to shake Snape’s hand, who, it appears, has well and truly been accepted into their little gang. Guess there’s nothing like hexing James Potter in public to act as an initiation. Their own table feels oddly empty without James, who Madame Pomfrey is keeping in the Hospital Wing with badly bruised ribs, although Peter has a suspicion that it’s more to stop James seeking revenge, at least for tonight.

When “McKinnon, Alfred,” is called, Marlene grips her knife tight and doesn’t seem to breathe until Gryffindor has been called.

“Never doubted you one bit, Alf,” she says to him, as Alfie is welcomed to the table.

Peter congratulates him, but Alfie doesn’t notice. He’s too busy looking up and down the rows of Gryffindors, searching for someone. Peter can probably guess who. 

“Where’s James?” 

“Oh, brilliant, just what Potter needs. A fan-club to inflate his ego,” Marlene says, rolling her eyes. “Never you mind about James, squirt. Sit down and have some cake.”

“I don’t know,” Sirius says, smiling at last. “Having a little minion will perk James right up when he gets out of the Hospital Wing.”

“My brother is not a minion, Black.”

Alfie beams delightedly, and Lily Evans leans across Remus, frowning. 

“Potter, in the Hospital Wing, already? What on earth has he done now?”

Peter braces himself as Sirius’ smile drops. _Just focus on your dessert, Pettigrew. You like dessert. Look, custard!_

“Ah, Lily,” Remus says, but Sirius cuts across him loudly, “Oh, nothing for you to worry your little freckled head about Evans - just your beloved Severus attacking him for no good reason, being a nasty peice of work as per usual.”

Lily blinks, surprise flickering across her face, but she holds Sirius’ gaze. “That, I highly doubt.” 

Sirius shrugs. “You believe what you want. Either way James is in the Hospital Wing because of your mate, while he gets away with it, sucking up to my brother over there.”

Lily looks to Remus, who gives an awkward half-shrug, and then she looks at Peter. Peter nervously drops his gaze back to the table. _Do not get involved. Custard. Pudding. Concentrate on the pudding._

“Funny that, come to think of it,” Sirius says in mock-thoughtfulness, as Peter chants _pudding pudding pudding_ over and over in his head, because he can tell what’s coming, and there’s no James here to stop it. “Snape and Regulus looking so friendly over there. Don’t know if you’ve ever spent time with my brother, but he’s a bit of a brat.”

“Must be genetic,” Lily says through gritted teeth, cheeks red.

“ _Au contraire!_ I’m nice as pie, next to old Reggie. I’m _delightful_. Well, all depends on who you ask, of course, but my brother, your best friend’s new buddy over there? Breaks my heart to say it, Evans, but he’s not a fan of Muggle-borns. No, not at all. Now, I wonder what ever they could be discussing over there. Good thing your friendship is so secure, yeah?”

Lily stands up, emptying her goblet over Sirius’ head. There’s a gasp from around them as Lily storms off, ignoring McGonagall’s shout of _“Miss Evans!”_

Remus shakes his head, sighing, but Sirius looks rather content with himself. He shakes his hair like a dog, pumpkin juice spraying everyone in the vicinity, and grins roughly.

“Wonder what her problem is. Pass the custard, will you, Pete? Good lad.”


	20. mischief managed.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Remus shows his true Marauder colours, and Sirius likes it.

_September 1973._

James Potter had a very clear vision for his Third Year at Hogwarts. 

Armed with his dad’s Invisibility Cloak and a Hogsmeade permission slip, James felt invincible. They were going to explore the castle and even the village like never before; they were going to work on refining their pranks a bit to make them more discreet, so that Gryffindor had a shot at winning the House Cup; they were going to flatten Slytherin on the Quidditch pitch; they were going to raid the library for books on Animagi and gather all the knowledge they could possibly absorb. James had imagined sunny Saturdays spent in Hogsmeade with his mates, filling their pockets with every possible treat from Honeydukes and finally getting to visit Zonko’s, something he’d been yearning for since starting school. As far as James had been concerned, Third Year was going to be his best year at Hogwarts yet.

Waking up on September 2nd to find himself in the Hospital Wing, James Potter has to admit to himself that his plan has not gotten off to exactly the best start. 

“Morning, beautiful,” croons a voice in his ear, and James turns with a start to see Sirius very close to his face, grinning insanely. 

“Agh!” James yelps. “Have you ever even heard of personal space?”

“Heard of it,” Sirius replies indifferently. “Not a fan of the concept. Now, someone is a grumpy-poo this morning,” he says, as James continues to scowl as he reaches for his glasses and pulls them on.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t exactly imagine I’d be spending my first night back at school here, did I?”

Sirius holds up a napkin full of toast. “Brought you breakfast.”

“Thanks,” James says grudgingly. “Where are the others?” he asks, after he’s stuffed a whole piece of toast into his mouth and swallowed it with some difficulty. He’s starving; the reminder that he missed the feast last night only makes him grumpier.

“Getting our timetables. Pete said he’d get your books all ready and everything, so don’t worry.”

“I’m not crippled,” James says irritably. “I’ve had worse on the Quidditch pitch! It was only a little fall. They only kept me in overnight to make sure I didn’t hex Snivelly’s unmentionables off, I reckon.”

Sirius shudders. “Please no talk of Snivelly’s unmentionables before 9am. Or, actually, ever.”

James isn’t listening; Madam Pomfrey has just bustled in, and he’s stuck up a hand to hail her over. “Can I go?” he asks as soon as she’s within earshot. “I feel fine. Fantastic, even.”

Madam Pomfrey smiles wearily. “Yes, Mr Potter, you may go.”

Before she’s even finished talking James has jumped up and is pulling on his school robes with one hand, attempting to carry on eating his breakfast with the other. The castle is quiet as both boys make their way towards the Great Hall; no doubt everyone else is still having their breakfast. As they walk, Sirius fills him in on last night. James can’t help but laugh at the thought of Evans upending her pumpkin juice over his best mate’s head.

“You had a point though,” James says as they jump over a trick step on the staircase. “She needs to realise her precious Sevvy is a slimeball, and him hanging out with your brother can only mean trouble - no offense.”

Sirius just shrugs. “Well, I told her as much. When it all goes tits up, she can’t come crying to us. All we’ve done is try to warn her.”

A buzz of chatter grows louder as they reach the Great Hall, but they don’t go in. James is secretly glad - the thought of having to walk past a table of Slytherins all pointing and jeering at him doesn’t sound great to him, but he doesn’t mention this to Sirius. They wait for a few minutes outside the door until Remus and Peter arrive.

“How are you feeling?” Remus asks. 

“McGonagall is still inside,” Peter says, jerking his thumb at the door. “You can go tell her what Snape did.”

“No,” James says forcefully. He didn’t mention to Madam Pomfrey what happened last night, despite her questioning and raised eyebrows; he doesn’t want to give the Slytherins the satisfaction of thinking they’d got to him. He’s definitely not going running to McGonagall. He straightens up, flashes his brightest grin. “I’m never better. Let’s just forget it, yeah? So. Timetables?”

“Here,” Remus says, handing Sirius and James theirs. 

It isn’t a bad first day at all, really, James thinks as he quickly scans his. Care of Magical Creatures and Herbology in the morning, and then Divination, followed by double Charms in the afternoon.

“Could be worse,” James says, peering at his friends’ schedules. Sirius has Muggle Studies where he has Divination, and Remus has Arithmancy; Peter’s timetable is identical to James’. “No History of Magic, at least.”

“Outside most of the morning, too,” Sirius comments cheerfully, hitching his bag over his shoulder and leading the way to their first class. “I wonder what types of creatures we’ll be dealing with, eh, boys? Hatching dragons, subduing chimaeras and all that. Can’t wait.”

“Did you even read the Care of Magical Creatures syllabus?” Remus asks, the hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Peter’s eyes go round; he’s so busy gawping at Sirius that he nearly walks straight into a stone pillar. Sirius just grins in response, and James’ spirits lift considerably, now that he’s back with his mates. He can feel the shame of last night bouncing off him like an Impervius Charm has been placed on him. As they stroll across the grounds, the sun is breaking through the clouds, and James finally feels ready to tackle the year.

::

For their first two years at Hogwarts, Professor Kettleburn had been a source of awe and speculation for James and Sirius. They’d see him at breakfast sometimes, his mousy-brown hair singed at the tips, a few fingers bandaged and blistered, limping on crutches and a few times with an eye-patch or balaclava concealing his face. And so, reasonably enough, James had supposed that they’d be doing something exciting in their first ever Care of Magical Creatures lesson. Something death-defying, even; he’d let his imagination wander, spurred on by Sirius’ like-mindedness, and envisioned himself tackling the most dangerous creatures. His fellows would cheer. A few girls would swoon, naturally. Snivellus would get eaten by a manticore. 

Considering how his year was panning out so far, then, he should have seen it coming when Professor Kettleburn handed out dragon-hide gloves and large goggles, and announced they would be searching the edges of the forest for bundimun. 

“This is stupid,” James grumbles after twenty minutes of overturning logs and rocks, which is neither exciting nor death-defying in the slightest. “Since when is fungus a creature?”

“Well, technically,” Peter begins, but is silenced with a look. 

“Think I’ve found some,” Remus calls. He’s crouched by a moss-covered log, the tip of his wand illuminating what is most certainly bundimun. The fungus wobbles ominously and blinks its eyes at them all as they crowd around. 

“Nice one, Moony,” Sirius says, squatting next to Remus and drawing his own wand out of his robes. “Kettleburn said it spits out acid - shall we aim some at Snivellus?”

He shoots a dark look at where Snape is stood a few feet away, partially obscured by the trees, with Mulciber. His large nose is buried in Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them, and Mulciber is gazing around at the forest, boredom writ large across his features, as though he considers the whole process of school beneath him.

“I wouldn’t,” Remus says quietly. He adjusts his goggles over his eyes and gives Sirius a stern look. “You need your goggles on.”

Sirius laughs, his own goggles around his neck. “You look like a bug.”

“Well, thanks for that helpful input. Let’s just get it in the tube. Here, move out the way -”

“Quit shoving me, I’m only having a look -”

“You’re being stupid, stop poking at it like that -”

“AGHH!”

Sirius reels back, his hands flying up to cover his face. Professor Kettleburn hurries over, surprisingly quick for a man leaning on a cane for support, and tuts disapprovingly over the laughter of the Slytherins.

“Mr Black, I did say goggles on! Let me have a look - ah, it’s not so bad. You’ll keep the eye. Potter, take him to the Hospital Wing, if you please.”

“Serves him right, stupid prat,” James hears a Slytherin say as they walk past, and he clenches his hand to keep himself from going for his wand. Thankfully Sirius ignores them too. He’s taken his hand down from his eye now, and James sees the skin around his eye has gone a nasty purple colour and has started to peel already, the whites of his eyes now red. 

Madam Pomfrey’s eyes go wide when she sees who exactly has just walked through the door. “Mr Potter, what now!”

“Not me,” James says shortly. “Sirius annoyed some bundimun.”

Madam Pomfrey sighs in a world-weary sort of way. “Of course he did. Take your usual seat, boys.”

::

In the end they’re ten minutes late for Herbology, earning them a reproving look from Professor Sprout, but she doesn’t take away points, either because of the state of Sirius’ eye or because the paste Madam Pomfrey applied to it smells so strongly of rotting fish that she doesn’t want to get close enough to them to tell them off. 

Remus gives Sirius a worried look as they’re trimming the leaves of their dittany, and flicks a scrap of parchment over to their bench when Professor Sprout’s back is turned.

_Does it hurt?_

Sirius gives him an incredulous look, and scribbles back: _I got acid in my eye, Moony. Of course it hurts._

Are you mad at me?

Sirius hesitates, meeting Remus’ gaze across the greenhouse. He’s got what Sirius calls his ‘wibble face’ on, when his mouth goes all quivery and he looks like he’s thinking too much about consequences and repercussions and feelings. Big pansy. 

Eventually, he writes: _Nah. You were right. I should have had my goggles on._

Remus reads it, his lips quirking upwards, and then turns back to what he was doing. Sirius picks up his pruning shears, about to tackle his own plant, when another note lands in front of him, bearing Peter’s tell-tale handwriting, like his quill vomited ink all over the parchment and then rolled around in it.

_You really stink!_

_Thanks, Pete._

_Got a surprise for you though._

_I hope it’s not a kiss, because I really feel much better._

_You wish, fish-face. Look!!_

Sirius glances at Professor Sprout, who is now walking around checking up on everyone, and then whirls around to look at Peter two benches behind him. Peter holds up a tube containing something green and - unless Sirius is much mistaken - that appears to be glaring its many eyes in his direction. A grin splits Peter’s face; he mouths, “Payback!”, and the tube of bundimun disappears into his robes once more as Professor Sprout approaches.

Sirius bites back a laugh. Sometimes, Peter can be unexpectedly sneaky, and he thinks it’s nothing short of brilliant.

::

“What are you even going to do with it?” Remus asks at dinner, the topic at hand the bundimun currently stowed away in Sirius’ trunk in their dormitory. “Slip it into Snape’s breakfast?”

“Now there’s a thought,” Sirius says, considering. “Although it lacks finesse. Keep the ideas flowing though.”

“Finesse? You’re talking about squirting someone with acid from a fungus. I hardly think finesse comes into it.”

“And that kind of attitude is exactly why we -” Sirius waves a lazy hand between himself and James, “- are the masterminds of these operations.”

“Hey!” Peter says indignantly. “I’m the one that stole the thing!”

Sirius leans across the table, patting Peter on the cheek. “Of course, dear. And job well done too. Now we just need to think what to do with it. Think, men! This can’t be like the prank with the exploding cauldrons.”

“I liked the exploding cauldrons,” James says, looking up from his mashed potato in some surprise. “I thought you did too.”

“Well, yeah, but it was over too quickly. We’ve become far too used to instant gratification -”

Peter sniggers. “Is that what you call it?”

Sirius carries on, loftily, as though he hadn’t heard. “Now is the time for thinking of the long term implications. Explosions and Slytherins burning their eyebrows off is very well and good for a quick fix, but we’re in our third year now. Seasoned pranksters. We need to be the ones to whom future generations look up to. We need to strive to be better, for their sakes.”

“You are mental,” Remus murmurs. “Absolutely deranged.”

“Remus, it will pain me to remove you from the group, but for the good of all that is holy and pranking, I will do it. Honestly I have to wonder about your commitment to the cause at times.”

“I’m committed!” Peter says, his forehead wrinkled in concentration. “Er. How about we put it in his pants? Could burn his todger right off.”

Sirius sets his knife and fork down, his face pale. “Peter,” he says seriously. “This is the second time today I have had that horrifying image put into my head. The next time it happens, I will not be held accountable for my actions. Now, can we all please stop contemplating Snape’s bits and think of a what to do with this bloody fungus, or are you all as hopeless as Lupin here?”

“Hey,” Remus says irritably. “I don’t see you coming up with any great ideas.”

“I’m trying to motivate you all.”

“Doing a pretty piss-poor job, mate,” James points out.

“It’s hard work,” Sirius mutters, glaring. “Especially when my comrades-in-arms are being so utterly hopeless.”

“For goodness sake, just put the bloody thing in the Slytherin common room and wait for it to multiply,” Remus says exasperatedly. “That’ll take time, lull them into a false sense of security, and pretty soon they won’t be able to sit down without getting acid burns somewhere unpleasant.” There’s a beat of silence in which Sirius, James and Peter all blink at him. Remus shifts uncomfortably. “What?” he asks, somewhat defensive under their stares. “You asked for long-term.”

Sirius grins. “I love that you get strategic when you’re angry.”

“Oh, piss off,” Remus mumbles, reaching for his goblet, but Sirius is pretty sure he catches the hint of a smile before Remus takes a drink.

::

Remus makes them wait nearly three whole weeks, because Remus is surprisingly dedicated at times about these things, and can plan a prank as well as he can plan his homework schedule. Sirius admires the dedication, the craftsmanship of waiting for the perfect moment, even though as a rule Sirius and James aren’t used to waiting at all. Every morning Sirius sees the tube of bundimun as he’s rifling around for a pair of socks, a quill, a chocolate frog - and he’ll look up at Remus hopefully, but before he can open his mouth, Remus will shake his head, and Sirius will huff and James will sigh and Peter will frown.

“I don’t see why we have to wait for Remus’ say-so,” Peter grumbles one morning when Remus is in the bathroom. “After all, I’m the one who -”

“Yes, Peter, you’re the one who took it,” James cuts across him. “We know you’re the one who took it, all right? If you could just shut up about it for five seconds, maybe you’d see that Remus is obviously waiting for a reason.”

Peter’s ears turn pink at the tips, and he busies himself with tying his shoelaces. 

It’s a soggy sort of morning three days later when Remus says, casually over their breakfasts, “I think tonight is the night.”

“The night?” Sirius says, trying to keep his voice calm, although he swaps an excited look with James. “ _The_ night?”

Remus nods. “I’ve heard Slughorn is holding some sort of dinner party, so a lot of the older years will be out. They’ve also booked the Quidditch pitch for practice, so that’s the team gone. Plus, frankly, I could do with the distraction myself.”

His gaze drops down to his fried egg, and Sirius remembers its four days before the full moon, and almost instantly feels like a shit friend. It’s the first one since being back at school, and during the summer he’d forgotten to keep track. He glances again at James, who is wearing a similarly uncomfortably expression that tells Sirius that he forgot too.

“Remus,” James says. “We can wait -”

“No,” Remus says, voice unexpectedly rough. He seems to give himself a shake, clears his throat. “Tonight is the best chance we have of their common room being reasonably quiet. Ready to get your cloak out, James?”

James perks up a bit, his shoulders straightening. Sirius can see he’s gone into business-mode, his eyes gleaming behind his glasses. “You know me, Moony. Born ready.”

James is as good as his word, and spends most of lunch hanging around the dungeons under the cloak, waiting for a Slytherin to follow. Sirius is beginning to think he’s been unsuccessful - or even worse, found out - when James finally appears at their table, sliding into the space next to Remus and whispering, disdain dripping from every word, “ _Purity_ , can you believe it? What sort of password is that? I wonder if Dumbledore knows about this.”

Sirius looks across the Great Hall to the Slytherin table, his lip curling in disgust. He feels his resolve for what they’re planning to do strengthen considerably.

They employ the use of Peter and his surprisingly light fingers again in Herbology. Sirius knocks a mandrake pot off of one of the shelves on his way by, and in the midst of all the screaming and yelling (”Sorry, Professor, didn’t see it there!”) Peter scrambles to Professor Sprout’s bench, securing a packet of Magi-Gro plant feeder.

“Will it work on bundimun?” Peter asks curiously, as they’re killing time that evening in the common room. “I mean, it’s not a plant plant is it - what if it doesn’t work?”

“Pete, focus less on what if it doesn’t,” Sirius advises, grinning hugely. “And imagine what if it _does_.”

It’s nearing ten o’clock when Remus nods; James packs away his gobstones set, taking out his Invisibility Cloak from his pocket, and Sirius heads upstairs to retrieve the bundimun from his drawer. It glares at him as usual, its many eyes indignant, and he feels a small pang of regret. He’s grown oddly attached to the fungus - he’s sure it recognises him from when it spat acid at him. “Good times,” Sirius murmurs, patting the tube absently, and then stows it into the depths of his pockets. 

They get down to the dungeons without encountering Filch or Mrs Norris - who, Sirius is sure, can sense them even when they’re under the clock. 

“This way,” James whispers, and they shuffle forward along the darkened hallway, past the Potions classroom. The walls down here are stone, cold and unfriendly, and they stop abruptly just after an extinguished lantern. “ _Lumos_ ,” James mutters, lifting his wand slightly to cast light upon the stone wall. It looks much like the rest of the wall, but James is frowning in concentration, obviously searching for something familiar. 

How odd, Sirius thinks suddenly, that this is where his family have been calling home for generations, and here he is, a stranger, struggling to find the right entrance.

“This is it,” James says then. “Right, who’s going in?”

Peter blinks at him. "What do you mean?"

“We can’t all go,” James says reasonably. “We need two of us to keep look-out; the other two go in. Remus, this is your baby, I think you should do the honours.”

Remus smiles, his eyes dark in the half-light. Before anyone else can say anything, Sirius blurts out, “Me! I want to go too. I mean, I just - I want to see what’s in there.”

James nods in understanding; Peter looks like he’s about to object, but then James has whipped the cloak off of the two of them, leaving Sirius and Remus underneath. 

“The signal to get the hell out will be one of us dropping a Blaster Pellet, all right? I’ll - I don’t know - I’ll tell any Slytherins we see that we’re trying to gatecrash Slughorn’s party and got lost or something. Then we’ll run for it and meet you back at Gryffindor Tower.”

Sirius stands in front of the stone wall, unsure exactly where he should be looking, or if the wall can even tell where he is anyway. He takes a breath, and says, “Purity!” with as much conviction as he can. There’s a rumbling sound as the wall slides sideways, revealing a passageway. Remus lights his own wand, and then they’re in.

“Don’t think much of the decor,” Sirius mumbles as they walk along, elbows knocking into each other because even though it’s roomier with just the two of them under the cloak, Sirius can’t help but find himself keeping close to Remus as they walk along the dark, deserted passageway.

“Obviously wasn’t Salazar’s strong point,” Remus says dryly.

The passageway opens up to a room decorated largely in green. Among the half-melted candles heavily dripping wax, there are what are unmistakably skulls dotted here and there on the various shelves, and Sirius snorts in derision, unable to keep himself from rolling his eyes.

“ _Obviously_ ,” he says. “Someone should tell them skulls aren’t in this year.”

“At least it’s empty,” Remus whispers. 

“Poor ickle Slytherins, unable to stay up past bedtime. Must be tiring, being gits all day long.” 

His eyes adjusting to the gloom, Sirius glances around. There’s a tapestry along half of the back wall, not unlike the one at Grimmauld Place, but instead of a family tree, it depicts a gory battle of some kind. There’s definitely some poor bloke getting beheaded, again and again - Sirius finds it oddly fascinating, and tears his gaze away at last from the endless loop of decapitiation to take in the dark wooden furniture; the coffee table with an intricately carved legs in the shape of serpents; the heavy-looking cabinets full of dusty books and vials of various liquids. There’s a poster up advertising Quidditch practise sessions, and the fact the team need a new Seeker, and above the fireplace hangs a portrait of Salazar Slytherin himself, dressed in dark green robes with a high collar buttoned up to his throat, an imperious look on his face. 

“Maybe it looks more cheerful in the day,” Remus says, reading Sirius’ mind. “You know, with people. And a fire.”

“To ward off the evil spirits?” Sirius mutters; his eyes find another passageway to the back of the room. “Hey, reckon they’re the dormitories?”

Remus shrugs. “Dunno, could be. I’m not keen to go snooping to be honest.”

“No, course not,” Sirius says, but he can’t help but wonder. Is that where his brother is right now, sleeping peacefully? Did he read the sign for a new Seeker, and try out? Sirius looks at the leather sofas, wondering which seat Regulus favours, where he goes to relax after a long day —

“Sirius? I said, do you have the bundimun?”

Sirius turns, with some difficulty under the cloak, and sees Remus looking at him in concern.

“You all right?”

“Yeah, of course.” Sirius takes out the tube. “Right - er - where are we putting it?”

Remus takes a cursory look around. “Coffee table?” he suggests. “It’s quite central; it’ll get a lot of people near it. If we put it underneath, maybe with a Sticking Charm, they won’t even see it unless they’re lying on the floor looking for it.”

“Good idea,” Sirius says fervently, glad to have an idea to latch on to. 

“Quite good conditions in here, really. Bundimun like dank places; under logs and rocks and so on, you know. It’ll thrive quite nicely in here even without the Magi-Gro.”

Sirius shakes his head. “You even make a prank into an opportunity for education. It’s a talent you have there, Moony, honestly.”

“I will come when you least expect it, Sirius Black, and I will make you learn things,” Remus says solemnly.

He crouches down to the coffee table, peering underneath. The cloak slips a bit off Sirius’ head; he hastily bends down as well, pointing the tip of his wand into the tube, right at the bundimun. 

“ _Immobulus_ ,” he whispers, and tips the frozen fungus safely into the palm of his hand. Remus applies the Sticking Charm, Sirius sprinkles on the Magi-Gro, and it’s Remus’ idea to suddenly cast _engorgio_ on it as well, making it swell to twice its size, although not big enough to be seen when standing up.

“Brilliant,” Sirius says after they’ve finished, and the bundimun is wobbling dangerously back and forth underneath the table, its mobility restored. “They’ll be infested within the fortnight.”

“More like a week,” Remus says, looking surprisingly devious. 

Sirius ruffles his hair and grins. “I’m thinking of downgrading James,” he says, an arm around Remus’ neck, a hand brushing his shoulder. “You can be my second-in-command. Think we make a pretty good team, Moony.”

An unreadable expression flickers in Remus’ eyes, although maybe it’s just the light. He smiles; a true, full smile that stretches his scars slightly but is no less wonderful - or maybe its more so - because of its rarity. It occurs to Sirius how little he sees that smile, and what a shame that is.

“Do you know what,” Remus says. “I reckon we do.”

::

It happens in stages, and it’s wonderful to behold. 

The morning after, nothing, and James and Peter swap sceptical looks as if they’re sure that Remus and Sirius must be mistaken as to how well the prank was executed. 

“Trust us,” is all Remus says, and the next day as they’re lining up for Potions a fourth year Slytherin walks past, grumbling to a friend, “- holes in the bottom of my brand new robes, and I’ve no idea how they got there - ten galleons they cost me, tailor made; I was going to wear them to the first Hogsmeade weekend, and now they’re ruined!” 

Sirius peeks into the Hospital Wing that evening; a fair few of the beds are taken up by Slytherins, and Madam Pomfrey is bustling around, muttering, “I don’t know, I know you lot like your potion experiments, but you should really know better than to mix ingredients - what have you all been playing at; you’ll all set yourselves on fire at this rate!” and she doesn’t listen one bit to their insisting that they haven’t been messing about with potions, that they don’t know how they’ve been getting burnt.

It gets better the next day, as more and more Slytherins appear in the Great Hall with varying burns and some covered in the same foul-smelling paste that Sirius had. James nearly coughs up a lung trying not to laugh when Snape approaches Lily Evans at dinner, half his face and down his arm lathered in the stuff, and Evans says, apologetically but still holding her nose, “I’m sorry Sev but can we study another night, maybe when you’ve washed that stuff off?” and Dorcas Meadowes nearly gags over her roast chicken until Snape stomps off, red-faced and causing students to practically run away from him.

It lasts four days in total, until Sirius hears from somebody that Slughorn had finally decided to go and investigate what exactly was causing his students to erupt in boils and peel horribly, and had found the largest infestation of bundimun he’d ever seen. 

“They reckon a group of Fourth Years were mucking about, trying to use its acid for potion ingredients or something; you know they’re into some pretty dangerous stuff,” a Ravenclaw says, in line for Charms; people are still talking about it a day later. Sirius exchanges gleeful looks with Peter and James (it’s the day after the full moon, and Remus is still in the Hospital Wing) at the news that the Slytherins actually had points docked, because, as the Ravenclaw said, “it had to be a Slytherin who got it in, who else can get in the common room?”

Sirius skips lunch, and races to the Hospital Wing after Charms, walking jauntily past some disgusting-smelling Slytherins (one which, Sirius is sure, is Walden Macnair underneath all the paste and burns) and to Remus’ curtained-off bed at the end. 

“Hey,” he says, seeing Remus is awake. “How are you feeling?”

“Not too bad this time,” Remus says, although his voice is weak. “I heard Madam Pomfrey lecturing those lot -” he jerks his chin lightly in the direction of the Slytherins, “- for being idiots earlier, and that made me feel a whole lot better.”

Sirius sits on the end of the bed, by Remus’ legs. True enough, Remus doesn’t look as bad as he has done this time - a few scratches on his arms, a bandaged ear, but no new scars at least, and that’s something. He knows Remus won’t talk about the night, so instead Sirius recounts the entire conversation he heard, how many more Slytherin’s he’d seen with burnt robes, how long it had taken Slughorn to get rid of the infestation, how one rumour had it that the bundimun had even been found in the showers. 

“Your idea was amazing,” Sirius says earnestly. “Couldn’t have planned it better myself. Moony, they got points taken off! For being burnt and made to smell like fish!”

Remus closes his eyes, smiling faintly. “Well, I think that’s mischief most definitely managed, wouldn’t you?”

Sirius laughs. "Yeah. Yeah, I reckon so."


	21. a trip to hogsmeade, with undesirable results.

_November 1973._

Over the noise of fourteen cauldrons bubbling, hissing and boiling, Professor Slughorn’s voice booms out, “Time’s up, ladies and gentlemen! Please bring your Vigilance Draughts to me for marking!”

Lily pushes her hair back from where it has plastered itself to her forehead. Waving her other hand through the cloudy vapour over her own cauldron, she sees with relief that her potion has turned the desired shade of orange Slughorn had shown them in his demonstration at the start of the double lesson. It’s been a long old day; she’s sweaty, hot, and already thinking longingly of perhaps skipping dinner and going back to Gryffindor Tower for a shower and an early night.

There’s a flurry of movement as her classmates all hurry to bottle their potions and leave. As the Gryffindors and Slytherins Vanish the contents of their cauldrons, lifting the fog, the dungeons come into focus and Lily sees that although the majority of her peers are hurriedly shoving their vials at Slughorn and making hasty exits, there is one person at the back who hasn’t moved an inch.

Severus is bent low over his Potions textbook, scribbling furiously with his quill, his cauldron still simmering away beside him. Unlike Lily’s own work surface, which is littered with excess crushed beetles and an overturned bottle of castor oil, Severus’ table is completely clean and tidy. He’s immersed in whatever it is he’s writing, and doesn’t look up until she’s right beside him, her shadow falling across the notes he’s making in the margins of his book.

“No prizes for guessing how easy you found that one, then,” she says, nodding to his cauldron which is full of a potion the exact colour and consistency they have been aiming for. 

He straightens up, dark eyes sweeping down to her own bottle of Vigilance Draught which is clutched in her hand. “I could say the same for you.”

“Yeah, but then I didn’t have the luxury of time to stop and make notes,” she says with a laugh, trying to get a peek at his textbook. “What’s this, Handy Potion Hints from Severus Snape?”

“Something like that,” he says, shutting the book and shoving it in his bag. 

They join the dwindling line to Slughorn’s desk, where Mulciber is handing over his potion and, unless Lily is seeing things, a box covered in silver wrapping.

“Joseph,” Slughorn says, wagging his finger admonishingly, although the effect is ruined somewhat by the pleased smile on his face. “Not trying to bribe the teacher, I hope!”

“Of course not, sir,” Mulciber says easily. “I just remembered my father saying you had a fondness for caramels.”

“Oh, as if,” Lily murmurs in Severus’ ear, eyeing Mulciber with great dislike. “Trying to bribe Slughorn is exactly what he’s trying to do. Look at his potion - it’s not even orange, that’s practically pink! And I bet Mulciber still walks away with an E, at least.”

“Well,” Severus says, a bit snappishly, “maybe the old Slug shouldn’t let himself be so easily bought.”

They move forward, and Slughorn beams at Lily as she sets her vial down in front of him. “Ah, Miss Evans! Looks like another perfect potion - and Mr Snape too, of course! I should stop being surprised at this point. You two never fail to impress an old man.”

“Perhaps you ought to test the potion before we collapse under the weight of your praise, Professor,” Severus says dryly. “After all, looks can be deceiving.”

“Sev,” Lily says, but Slughorn laughs. 

“Quite right, m’boy, quite right indeed! Modest and talented - the pair of you. Both of you are so similar, Miss Evans, does it ever make you wonder if perhaps you’d have been better placed in Slytherin, hm?”

“No, sir,” Lily replies sweetly. “Mostly it just makes me wonder if perhaps Severus should have been a Gryffindor.”

Severus flushes and scowls at her. Slughorn laughs again, clapping Severus on one bony shoulder so that he nearly falls into the desk. “I’d be careful if I were you, Severus! Don’t let her steal my best potion-maker away from me now!”

Slughorn is still laughing as they pack away their things and leave the classroom. They’re barely three steps away from the door when Mulciber appears from around the corner, making Lily jump and grip Severus at the elbow. He has a habit of appearing silently, does Mulciber, and it does nothing to put Lily at ease around him, no matter how much Sev protests he’s ‘all right really’. He would be handsome, Lily supposes, with his dark blonde hair and straight nose and full lips, but for the way his blue eyes are a bit too cold, and Lily has the uncomfortable feeling that he’s always watching her.

“There you are,” Mulciber says to Severus, although his gaze is lingering on Lily’s hand. “Are you coming to dinner, or what?”

“I’ll be along in a bit,” Severus says indifferently.

Mulciber’s lip curls. He looks Lily dead in the eye, and Lily thinks, suddenly, an icy feeling in her stomach, _he hates you._

“Suit yourself,” Mulciber says, and stalks off down the gloomy corridor.

Lily can feel the tightness in Severus arm under her fingers, as though he’s bracing himself for her commentary, but she holds her tongue. All of their arguments lately seem to stem from their friends, about who hangs around with whom, and she’s sick and tired of it all. Instead of letting go of Severus, she links her arm more securely in his, and feels him relax. 

They walk to the Great Hall together, Lily relishing the feel of her best friend solid and there beside her, without any hurt looks from him or her on the defensive. It’s easy this way, just the two of them, without bringing anyone else into it. Lily wishes it could be like this always, but with every step closer to the Great Hall Lily knows that soon they’ll go their separate ways, him to his friends and her to hers, and she hates that it’s like this, that she has to spend her time with him in the hallways between lessons or before lunch, and the only time he’s truly her Sev is over the summer. 

Sometimes she wishes they were nine-years-old again.

In the entrance hall they break apart. Severus looks oddly fidgety, pulling on the tattered sleeve of his robe. “It’s the first Hogsmeade weekend tomorrow,” he says hesitantly. “So. I know I asked in a letter over summer, but you never replied, so I wasn’t sure if - well, if -”

“If we’re going together?” Lily asks. “Of course we’re going together, Sev!”

Severus smiles then, and stands a bit taller. “Great. I’ll meet you here then. We can walk down together.”

“You sure you don’t just want to meet in the village somewhere?” 

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Severus says. “I’ll be waiting here for you.”

Lily thinks of what her friends will say, that she’s spending the first weekend out of school without them; she imagines the look on Sev’s friends faces when they realise who he’s waiting for. She’s made jokes before, about them being a bit like Romeo and Juliet, from enemy houses and all that, but Severus had just blinked at her and Lily remembered that his home had probably not been very full of Shakespeare. Plus, she’d thought later, _Romeo and Juliet_ was perhaps not the most cheerful analogy of their friendship. She, at least, is aiming for something with a bit more of a happy ending.

She pushes the thoughts of Mary and Dorcas and stupid bloody Mulciber to the back of her mind. Tomorrow is going to be a proper day of just her and Sev, and she’ll be damned if she’s going to let anyone ruin it for her.

::

Severus is stood in the exact same spot as yesterday when Lily arrives in the entrance hall, ready for their Hogsmeade visit. Dressed in his school robes and a dull grey scarf hung loosely around his neck, he waves Lily over to him. 

“Are you sure you’re wearing enough layers?” he asks with a smirk.

Lily looks down at herself; she’s wearing a coat that is concealing her vest, t-shirt and jumper her grandma knitted for her last year, her Gryffindor scarf, jeans and thick hiking boots. 

“It’s cold outside!” she says defensively, and he rolls his eyes as she begins fussing with his scarf, wrapping it around his neck so that it actually might to its job of protecting him from the elements, instead of just hanging there like a limp noose. “Honestly, sometimes I wonder what would happen to you if I weren’t around to take care of you.”

Professor McGonagall is at the gates, checking permission slips; Lily catches a glimpse of Sev’s as he hands it over, his mother’s jerky scrawl not even keeping on the intended dotted line, as if she’d rushed the whole thing. 

A slight snow flurry begins as they enter the village, and Lily is glad of her choice of clothing, no matter what Severus says. Despite the chill, the snow is welcome in Lily’s book: Hogsmeade looks beautiful, almost stereotypically picturesque with its white tipped roofs and warm looking, glow filled windows. 

They pass by Zonko’s easily enough, but are both drawn to Honeydukes, where Lily spends probably more than she should on ice mice and mint cremes. In Scrivenshaft’s, where it is considerably less crowded, Severus stares longingly at an Augurey quill, brushing his fingertips over the greenish black feather tip, before noting the price tag and hastily turning his attention to something else.

Severus’ nose is turning pink and Lily can’t feel her cheeks by the time they arrive in The Three Broomsticks. Lily marches over to a spot by the fire, narrowly beating a Hufflepuff to the spot, who slinks away with a scowl.

“You should try out for Quidditch with speed like that,” Severus comments, approaching at a far more leisurely pace.

Lily grins and replies, “No thanks. Quidditch is a waste of time, if you ask me, and most of the players are idiots,” which makes a small smile appear on Severus’ face as he seats himself opposite her at the small table.

“Don’t let Potter hear you say that; you’d break his heart and no doubt bruise that ego of his.”

“James Potter’s heart is none of my concern, and his ego is certainly big enough to survive a few dents,” Lily says, wrinkling her nose, and Severus’ smile twitches upwards again. “Anyway,” Lily continues, glancing at a menu. “I think I’ll try the Butterbeer - I’ve heard it’s good stuff.” 

She starts to rise from her chair, but Severus stands up first, holding a hand out to indicate she stay sitting. “I’ll get this.”

“Sev, there’s no need -”

“I can buy you a drink, Lily,” Severus insists, and Lily swallows her objections. She knows Sev can be touchy with money, so she just nods and watches as he approaches the bar.

He’s been gone less than a minute when the door to the pub opens, bringing with it an icy gust of wind and - even less welcome - Joseph Mulciber and Jarvis Avery. Lily audibly groans as they spot Severus by the bar almost instantly, making a bee-line for him. Mulciber slaps him on the back, Avery grips his hand and Sev suddenly looks, ridiculously, like a rabbit caught in headlights. His shoulders are up again, as if he’s trying to disappear in on himself, and when the woman behind the bar hands over two drinks, Mulciber must put two and two together. He scans the busy pub and finds what he’s looking for at once; after all, Lily is not exactly inconspicuous with her Muggle clothes and vivid hair.

Mulciber’s eyes narrow; he says something to Severus that causes a frown to appear on his face. Sev says something back, his mouth not opening much and the fingers clutched around the mugs of Butterbeer white at the knuckles, but Mulciber laughs and, to Lily’s horror, he and Avery accompany Severus back to their table.

“Good afternoon,” Avery says. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m -”

“Avery, yeah, I know who you are,” Lily says, practically snatching the mug from Severus without looking at him. She places both her hands around it just to stop them shaking; she’s so angry, that he’s let them come over, that he can’t just _consider her_ for once. Lily can tell he’s looking at her, has probably got on his stupid apologetic face, but she can’t look at him now, so that leaves her with staring up at Avery’s smug little expression instead.

“And you’re Lily Evans,” he says, eyes gleaming.

“I know I am.”

Avery merely laughs. “Feisty. Calm down, love, I’m only trying to be pleasant. You’re quite famous in Slytherin, you see. Slughorn’s pet Gryffindor and a pal of Severus’ here. It is a curiosity.”

“I didn’t think the concept of friendship was a difficult one to grasp,” Lily says coolly.

“She’s got fire, Severus, I’ll give you that,” Avery says softly. “I thought your choice of associations would be a bit more - savoury, but then I can see why you’d keep this one around.”

Severus mutters, “Leave it out, Jarvis,” his voice jerky, staring at the table.

“I don’t know, she’s a bit stuck-up for my tastes,” Mulciber puts in, ignoring Sev and looking Lily up and down with disdain. “Thinks she’s better than us just because she’s got Slughorn eating out of the palm of her hand, the little tart.”

“What?” Lily says, dazed, everything suddenly off-kilter. The noise in the pub seems to fade into a meaningless drone, buzzing in her ear, and she feels her face flush as Avery laughs, showing his teeth. She looks at Severus then, and sees his lips have gone very thin. He still doesn’t look at her, but turns his head slowly to look at his friends. _His friends._ Lily feels sick.

“That’s unacceptable,” Severus says, sounding very far away to Lily. “Lily’s as good as the next person at Potions. Slughorn’s an old lech, everyone knows it.”

“Quite right,” Avery says, still smiling pleasantly. “Joseph gets carried away. My apologies, Miss Evans. I merely wanted to make your acquaintance at long last. Come on, Joseph. I somehow don’t think our presence is welcome here.”

“Lily,” Severus starts, as soon as they’re out of earshot. 

He reaches for her hand under the table but she snatches it away.

“They’re _vile_ ,” she whispers, her voice croaky, her throat dry. “Absolutely - disgusting - I can’t believe they’re your friends, Sev!”

“They were out of order,” Severus says. “I know. They’re just twats. They were just testing you.”

“Testing me?” Lily laughs, a little hysterical laugh bubbling out of her and causing several people nearby to look. “Sev, they called me a tart, and you did nothing!”

“I said they were out of order,” Severus says stiffly. “What did you want me to do, fight them?”

“I want you to respect me! If you let them walk all over me, and you’re supposed to be my friend -”

“I am your friend! Lily, I do respect you. They’re just jealous; it’s because you’re so good at Potions, better than Avery and he’s a Fifth Year now, and especially with you being -”

“Don’t even say it,” Lily says, voice dangerously quiet. “I swear to God I will tip this drink all over you.”

“Becoming quite a habit,” Severus says sullenly, slouching back in his chair and scowling at the ceiling.

“It’s not funny, Sev.”

“Never said it was.”

“It’s not right, what they said.”

“I know that! I didn’t say it, did I? I didn’t agree, or egg them on, or anything! I actually defended you. I am not a bully.”

Lily sighs. “I know you’re not. All right. I - I know it wasn’t you. I’m just a bit shaken, that’s all. We’re three hours out of school and already I’m being called names, and - I just - God, is this how it is, on the outside?”

Lily can’t pretend she hasn’t seen the articles in the paper, hasn’t worked out that the random disappearances are perhaps not quite so random. She looks over at Sev, who is shifting uncomfortably in his chair, and Lily knows he’s utter rubbish with stuff like this. 

“You’d be useless in a fight, anyway,” Lily says briskly. “Look at those arms. Noodles, the pair of them.”

Severus looks up at her, and smiles hesitantly. This time, it’s Lily who reaches for his hand, needing something to hold, something reassuring. 

He doesn’t answer her question, but Lily doesn’t think she’s quite ready for the answer anyway.


	22. a fight, a match, and a making up.

_November 1973._

It’s just after 6am in their dormitory on a drizzly Sunday, the day after their first Hogsmeade visit when Remus decides his friends are inconsiderate gits. It starts with James and Sirius arguing, two days before the full moon, a time when Remus is normally prone to fits of irritability anyway, and it isn’t helped at all by being woken up by James Potter’s brisk, commanding voice so early in the morning.

“Sirius,” James says, his broom over one shoulder, already dressed and in his Quidditch gear. “Wake up! We have a match in two days, we need to train!”

“’M sleeping. Go ‘way.”

“You’re on this team too, you know! The extra practice won’t kill you.”

“Might,” Sirius says, rolling over to face the wall, away from James. “Who wants the risk?”

James glowers, and slams the dormitory door shut on his way out, shaking the room. Sirius yawns and shifts more comfortably on his bed. Peter, Remus suspects, is merely pretending to be asleep, but Remus is wide awake now and so he hauls himself up out of bed. He can feel the tension in his muscles, the rattling in his bones that lets him know that the full moon is never too far away, and he too pauses to throw a glare at Sirius’ sleeping form, annoyed that he can sleep so soundly, so unperturbed by everything, so unaffected. 

Irritated by his friends - for waking him, for being able to have Quidditch be one of their primary concerns at this moment in time, for having their stupid little quarrels at such an ungodly hour - Remus wraps himself in his dressing gown and heads down to the common room. He hopes it’ll be empty so early in the morning, but as he settles himself into his favourite, squishiest armchair, a voice says, “Oh. Morning, Remus.”

Lily Evans, in turquoise and white pinstriped pyjamas, her dark red hair sleep-tousled and a book tucked under one arm, clearly had the same idea he did. Remus bites the inside of his cheek to keep from sighing in irritation. After all, it’s not Lily’s fault that it’s nearly the full moon, that it’s a grey, miserable day and his friends have had a fight. In fact, Remus rather likes Lily, although his opportunities to strike up a friendship with her are limited due to her zero tolerance for all things named Black and Potter. 

“Do you mind?” Lily asks, gesturing at the empty sofa opposite Remus. 

“Of course not,” Remus lies politely.

Lily smiles in thanks, tucking her legs underneath herself as she sits down. She starts to read, and as Remus sits there, it strikes him how painfully awkward he is. If he were James, or Sirius, he wouldn’t be sat wondering what kind of silence this is, or planning how to take his leave without it seeming rude. James and Sirius have no trouble talking to people, even if that person doesn’t particularly want to be spoken to, and even Peter has a habit of just randomly blurting out whatever is in his head at that moment of time, which lacks the charm and finesse of James and Sirius, but at least it’s conversation.

_You think too much,_ a voice in his head says, a voice that sounds remarkably like Sirius.

When he was younger, in primary school, before his mother started teaching him at home, he never had many friends. Before the bite, Remus used to visit his grandmother Howell in Gwent. His grandmother fed Remus the tales of King Arthur and Bran the Blessed before she tucked him into bed at night. She told him to be mindful the _coblynau_ whenever he ventured by the quarries and mines, and warned him never to wander too far from the main roads, in case the _gwyllgi_ found him. In spite of this, or maybe because of her suspicious nature, Eilian Howell never found out that her daughter had married a wizard, that her grandson could, from an early age, make his toys dance across his room and make his brussel sprouts disappear from his plate without having to eat them. 

“She wouldn’t understand,” Hope said one day, when Remus asked why his father was never allowed his wand out at grandmother’s house. And so Remus had his first secret to keep.

It wasn’t so bad. Remus was content to be a perfectly normal little boy as his grandmother hung washing out in the back garden, talking in her singsong accent to Mrs Next Door over the low brick wall separating the gardens. Sometimes, Remus would play with Mrs Next Door’s daughter, a pigtailed girl called Agatha who laughed at his attempts to speak Welsh and built dens with him in the woods, and Remus had his first friend.

But that was before the bite. 

After, after the event that changed everything, that tore through Remus’ childhood like the teeth of a monster at his skin, the truth about Lyall had come out, and the terrible truth about what had happened to Remus followed after, and the visits to Gwent stopped, and he never saw Agatha again. 

“It’s not your fault,” Lyall would say, over and over. It became the refrain of Remus’ small life. 

_It’s not your fault,_ at the first Christmas he failed to get even a card from his grandmother. _It’s not your fault,_ when he overheard his parents arguing and his mum found him crouched on the top of the stairs. _It’s not your fault,_ when his eighth birthday party consisted of just the three of them, because Remus was never any good at keeping friends; he was always wary, mindful of the fact he had to get his lies in order, had to be quick with excuses and reasons, had to always be one step ahead of the inevitable questions and sometimes he wasn’t quick enough and it was tiring. 

It was never Remus’ fault, but it didn’t make it any better.

Remus sighs loudly at the flood of memories, more loudly than he had intended, and feels heat on his neck as Lily looks up at him curiously.

“Are you okay?” 

“Oh. Um. Yes, sorry. Sorry - just tired, that’s all. James and Sirius were having a bit of a - a tiff, this morning. Woke me up,” he explains.

“Lover’s quarrel?” Lily asks, eyebrows raised, and Remus laughs hesitantly.

“Something like that, I suppose. James went to train early for the match - against Ravenclaw, you know. On Tuesday. Sirius didn’t want to go.”

Lily snorts, her eyes flicking back down to her book. “Doesn’t surprise me. Black strikes me as the type not to have to try very much anyway.”

“Yeah,” Remus says, wondering vaguely if this is breaking some sort of rule of friendship he’s unfamiliar with, talking about his mates with someone who so strongly dislikes them. “That’s kind of accurate, actually.”

“So they had this tiff, and yet you’re the one out here before the sun has even risen, looking impossibly moody. Doesn’t sound right to me. Want to talk about it?” Lily offers, sliding a bookmark between the pages and setting her book to one side. 

“Not much to talk about,” Remus says, shifting uncomfortably under her sharp green gaze. She’s got one hand cupped under her chin, her head tilted to one side, and Remus wishes for a second that they were friends, that he could talk to her about why he’s in such a mood. “Erm. Just in a grump.”

“What do you do when you’re in a grump?” Lily asks, smiling faintly.

Remus considers. _Go into the Shrieking Shack, transform into a horrible monster and take it out on the walls_ doesn’t seem an appropriate answer here.

“Read, mostly. Go somewhere quiet. Try to avoid my friends.”

Lily laughs outright at this, and Remus feels a twinge that might be guilt. He’s fairly sure this is breaking the friendship rule, that Sirius would have something to say about this, but then, as Sirius is fond of reminding him, he over-thinks things.

“That, I can relate to,” Lily tells him, almost ruefully. 

Remus wants to ask, against his better judgement, what she means, but before he can gather the courage the door to the boys’ dormitories bangs open and Sirius clatters down the staircase, stopping abruptly at the sight of Lily and Remus.

“Oho, don’t we look cosy!” 

Remus rolls his eyes so hard he thinks his eyeballs might pop out of their sockets, because sometimes Sirius has the worst timing in the world. Lily curls her lip and abruptly goes back to her book. Undeterred, Sirius saunters closer and perches himself on the arm of Remus’ chair.

“Wondered where you’d got to,” he says conversationally. “I’m going down to the pitch to find James. Probably should train a bit. Wanna come?”

“No thanks,” Remus says.

Sirius frowns. “Oh, come on. I’ve already got James mad at me - what’s wrong with you?”

“James will be over it by now, you know he will,” Remus replies. “And I’m fine. I just want to be alone.”

“Alone with Evans?” Sirius says, waggling his eyebrows ridiculously, ignoring the noise of contempt from Lily.

“Sirius,” Remus says, in forced calm.

“Remus,” Sirius says innocently, and then sighs at the look on Remus’ face. “All right, it was just a joke. Calm down. Boy, you can tell it’s your time of the month.”

Remus stills, his heart thumping in his chest. He doesn’t dare look up at Lily to see her reaction, until he sees her get to her feet out of the corner of his eye. She approaches Sirius, who actually leans back from her, closer to Remus.

“You are such an insensitive pig!” she says, and Sirius blinks in genuine surprise. “Remus is the only decent one out of the lot of you. He’s the only one who seems to have actual feelings. _Time of the month._ You’re ridiculous, do you know that?”

“Er,” is all Sirius says, clearly flummoxed. He glances at Remus for help, but Remus isn’t in the mood to be nice.

“I’ll see you another time, Remus,” Lily says to him, sweeping imperiously up the girl’s stairs. 

Once she’s gone, Sirius exhales slowly. “Wow. I actually saw my life flash before my eyes. Moony, I thought she was going to kill me!” When Remus doesn’t laugh, Sirius moves off the arm of the chair and stands in front of him, frowning. “Come on, you’re not really mad, are you? I make jokes about your time of the month all the time.”

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t,” Remus says irritably. “What if she figures it out, Sirius?”

“She won’t,” Sirius says, unconcerned. “Anyway. Quidditch?”

Remus sighs, wondering if it’s the wolf rearing inside him, or if it’s normal to want to bash your best friend’s head against the wall as often as he does. 

::

“All right. Where’s my History of Magic essay?” 

Remus tries to keep his voice calm, but it’s the night before the full moon, and he can feel his skin prickling, feel the heat and anger in his veins, and this is the last straw.

Peter, from his bed, looks across at Remus and shrugs. “Dunno, mate. Think Sirius might have borrowed it.”

Remus lets out a long breath, squeezing his eyes shut. Slowly, he counts to five, and then opens them again. Then, quietly, “Where is Sirius?”

Peter looks shifty. “Er -”

“Don’t try and cover for him, Peter. I’m not in the mood.”

“Downstairs with McKinnon, last I saw,” Peter says guiltily.

In the common room, Marlene is playing chess with Frank Longbottom whilst Alice Thorne looks on, offering advice every so often, usually to Marlene. 

”Is this a female conspiracy?” Frank grumbles as his bishop gets dragged away by a ruthless pawn. Alice smiles and kisses his ear; he looks a bit happier after that, despite Marlene’s retching noises.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Remus says, edging closer.

“Hullo, Lupin,” Marlene says without looking up. “Have you lost something? You seem to be missing your three appendages.”

“Oh, them,” Remus says darkly. “It’s not them I’ve lost. I think Sirius might have my - erm, that is - I was told Sirius was with you.”

“Sirius?” Marlene says distractedly, still focused on the game. “No, haven’t seen him tonight I’m afraid. Recent history would lead me to suggest you try the Hospital Wing.”

“He was with your brother, Marls,” Alice says, and then, suddenly, “Oh, quick, mind your queen!”

“This is cheating!” Frank scowls. “Remus, want to help me out here?”

But Remus has already tuned out. With McKinnon. What would Sirius - and James, probably, seeing as there’s no sign of him either - want with a First Year? He pauses at the portrait hole, and then it hits him. 

“Those idiots,” he all but growls, and clambers through the portrait hole with such force that the Fat Lady tuts disapprovingly behind him.

A few weeks ago, on a midnight wander through the castle while under James’ cloak, the boys had discovered a hidden passageway - or what seemed to be a hidden passageway once, but had now mostly been blocked off, and was too small for any of them to clamber in and explore. James and Sirius had been relentlessly curious about what could be behind there, and Remus thinks he knows exactly what they’d want with a small, skinny, eager-to-please First Year.

He finds them, sure enough, on one of the fourth floor corridors, trying to shove Alfred McKinnon into a hole in the wall behind a tapestry.

“I don’t think he fits, Sirius,” James is saying reasonably.

“Of course he fits. Look how little he is! You’re all right, aren’t you Alfie?”

It is clear to Remus that Alfie is not all right. He looks like he is being eaten by the wall. Still smiling cheerfully though, he gives the thumbs up sign.

“There’s a good lad,” Sirius says, ruffling his hair absently while he considers the situation. “Now, if we just push on his head -”

“ - you’ll probably get him stuck in there forever,” Remus finishes, now stood directly behind them.

James yelps and Sirius jumps about a foot in the air. Alfie, still obscured mostly by wall, is still smiling.

“Hiya, Remus!”

“Why is Alfie in the wall?” Remus asks, wishing he had friends where these sorts of questions were not the norm.

“Where did you come from?” Sirius asks with a scowl. “It’s not on, sneaking up on people like that.”

“And sticking First Years into the walls is perfectly acceptable, is it?” Remus mutters. “Look, don’t mind me, I’m not here to spoil your - your whatever this is. I just want my essay back.”

“Essay?” 

“Yes, Sirius. My History of Magic essay. Peter says you borrowed it.”

“That little snitch. Oh, all right, I borrowed it to have a look over - you know I can’t stay awake through Binns’ lessons! Er. I think it’s in my bag. Not sure.”

“Not sure?” Remus can feel a vein in his temple pulsing. “Sirius, I need that essay!”

“We don’t have History of Magic until the day after tomorrow, what are you so uptight about?” Sirius asks.

James coughs rather pointedly, and bends down to Alfie’s level, quickly engaging in a loud conversation. Sirius, however, is oblivious.

Remus narrows his eyes. “Because, I won’t be in that lesson, if you recall. I need to hand it to Binns tomorrow.”

“Oh - oh, right. Er. Look, it’s almost definitely in my bag, and almost definitely not covered in chocolate from Honeydukes.”

“You’re an arse,” Remus says.

Sirius covers his mouth with one hand dramatically, his eyes wide in mock horror. “Moony, there is a child present!” 

“The only child I see here is _you_ ,” Remus snaps. “From now on, just keep your chocolatey paws off my homework, and find some other mug to copy from.”

Remus turns to storm off, blood thumping in his ears. The desire to just haul off and punch Sirius right in the face is so tempting it’s frightening, and he tenses when he feels a hand on his shoulder. He keeps his own arms clamped down at his sides, afraid of what he might do.

“Get off me, Sirius,” he mutters.

“Remus - I -”

Whatever Sirius is about to say is interrupted by a loud miaowing sound from near their feet. Remus glances down to see Mrs Norris, a rather smug expression on her face for a cat.

“Shit,” Sirius breathes, as Mrs Norris races away before they can grab her.

James is already trying to pull Alfie free from the wall when Sirius runs over and tries to lend a hand. Remus watches them in exasperation, half-tempted to just leave them to it and get caught, but against his better judgement he moves closer to them and elbows Sirius roughly out of the way.

“Hey!” Sirius says indignantly, just managing not to fall over. “Remus - what -?”

“Stand back,” Remus says, oddly calm now that he has a task to focus on. James scrambles out of the way as Remus aims his wand carefully at the wall above Alfie’s head. “Alfie, close your eyes. _Reducto!_ ”

Alfie grins enormously as he falls forward, bits of wall and debris in his hair. “This is amazing!” he says, half-laughing and half-coughing from all dust cloud swirling around him. 

James and Sirius swap looks, seeming to make a plan without words. Abruptly, James flings the Invisibility Cloak over himself and Alfie, just as Sirius grabs Remus by the arm and begins running in the opposite direction. After a few steps, Remus tries to break free of Sirius’ grip, but Sirius is annoyingly and insistently strong.

“Gerroff - me - Sirius, let go!”

“Stop being such a prat!” Sirius hisses, not breaking his stride and not releasing Remus at all. “I’m not getting detention and missing tomorrow over this!”

Of course, Remus thinks, his anger renewed. Quidditch.

Still, Remus has one thing Sirius doesn’t, and Beater strength or no, Remus is still stronger than Sirius at certain times. With all the energy he can muster while still running, Remus shoves Sirius off him and manages to get a few paces ahead. He doesn’t bother to check if Sirius is still behind him, and doesn’t stop at all until he gets back to Gryffindor Tower.

“Relaxing moonlit stroll?” the Fat Lady says tartly.

“Don’t go there,” Remus growls. “Porcupine Quill.”

The portrait hole has just swung open when Sirius careens around the corner, practically falling on Remus and shoving him through the hole. Once safely inside, Sirius swears under his breath, massaging his side as they both slump down on the floor.

“Who knew - you can run - so fast,” he pants. “That stupid cat nearly tripped me up coming down a staircase. I thought I was going to get caught for sure.”

“Glad I cut you loose, then,” Remus says briskly, getting to his feet.

Sirius gives him a wounded look, and then glances around the common room. “No James?”

“He’ll be all right,” Remus says. “He has the Cloak.”

“He better be all right, or Marlene will skin him alive.”

“What were you even doing with Alfie?” Remus asks, sinking into an armchair and covering his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Trying to get into that passageway,” Sirius says, as predicted. “James says his dad found eight secret passageways when he was here; James wants to at least treble it. Of course, now we know we should have just invited you along and had you blast a great big hole in the wall. Problem solved.”

“I was trying to get Alfie out,” Remus says shortly. “Seeing as you and James apparently forget at times you can perform magic. Honestly, you’re so irresponsible - what if he got into that hole and never got out again? What if there was something, I don’t know, something dangerous there? You nearly got him caught, and you could have got him killed.”

“Bit dramatic,” Sirius says. “I doubt Hogwarts has any dirty great monsters roaming behind its walls.”

Remus looks out of the window; behind the scurrying clouds, the moon is just about visible, nearly swollen. He feels the anger leaking out of him, like a punctured balloon. He misses it almost instantly. Without the anger, there’s just the restless waiting. He sighs, sagging against the pillows, feeling the tell-tale throb of the dull, hollow ache in his bones.

He doesn’t look at Sirius, but mumbles, just about audibly, “You never know, do you?”

::

The next day is torture for Remus. He hates transforming midweek; he misses twice as many lessons, and can never concentrate. He also hates that it’s winter, when the nights come even sooner and last longer. The one good thing is that today is also the evening of the first Quidditch match of the year, and so a lot of the students are distracted, less likely to notice his peaky complexion, less likely to comment on his absence in the morning. Hopefully they’ll all be too busy talking about the outcome of the match to notice one less person at breakfast, or in the mornings lessons.

By his last lesson of the day - Transfiguration - he’s given up completely trying to pay attention, and when he raises his hand to ask to be excused, McGonagall gives him an almost invisible nod and lets him gather his stuff together. No one so much as glances up from their note-taking, apart from Sirius, whose eyes Remus feels on him all the way out of the classroom.

Madam Pomfrey greets him at the Hospital Wing with her usual brisk and cheery manner, as if there’s nothing sinister or unusual about their monthly meetings. She keeps up a steady stream of chatter as she runs her wand over him, doing her usual tests. She hands Remus a large plateful of dinner, which he forces himself to eat, mechanically, mouthful after mouthful until the plate is clear; he’s never very hungry, before, but he knows the wolf will be - the wolf always is - and so it’s better this way, to fill up beforehand.

In the corridor outside Remus can hear the footsteps of every student. Dinner must be over, he thinks dully. From the open window he catches snippets of their laughter. He can practically smell the excitement in the air as everyone looks forward to the upcoming Quidditch game. Restless, he winds the white bed-sheet in his hands, making a fist around the material.

All too soon, as always, Madam Pomfrey says, “I think everyone is down at the pitch now, Remus. It’s time, dear.”

::

“It’s time!” Adric Vane, Gryffindor Captain, says eagerly as his teammates huddle around him. James edges closer, the familiar excitable sensation in his stomach. From just outside he can hear the roar from the stands. “Right, now listen. Ravenclaw are good, yes, but we’re better. We’ve got this. Just remember what I’ve been saying at practice - hang on.” Adric straightens up, blinks around at the group. “Where the hell is Black?”

::

Remus is halfway to the Willow when Sirius reaches him. Remus stops, staring at Sirius in confusion, taking in his Quidditch gear, his Beaters bat slung over his shoulder.

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

“Mr Black,” Madam Pomfrey says reprovingly, with an anxious glance at the sky. “Really, your timing is not great -”

“I’ll just be a moment,” Sirius says, sidestepping her to get to Remus. For one moment the wolf is roaring in Remus’ ears again, anger boiling in his chest as he looks at Sirius, but then Sirius smiles at him, and says, “I told you I wouldn’t miss tonight.”

“What? Sirius - the match -”

“Sod ‘em, they’ll wait for me,” Sirius says indifferently. “Or, well, maybe they won’t, I’m not sure, but whatever. I just wanted to say I’m sorry, for the essay and nearly getting you in trouble with Filch and being a general wanker lately.”

“Mr Black.” Madam Pomfrey’s voice is warning. Her grip on Remus’ arm tightens as she begins to move again. “We have to go. Now is not the time.”

She propels Remus forward, and he cranes his neck to look at Sirius as he is led away. Sirius raises his bat in the air and waves to him with it, and for the first time in days Remus smiles. 

“You better win tonight!” Remus calls, and even as they approach the Willow, over the thrashing of its limbs and creak of the branches, he can hear Sirius’ answering laugh behind him.

::

James whizzes past Rachel, his fellow Chaser, deftly dodging one of Ravenclaw’s Bludgers and hovers for a moment by the side of the pitch, scanning around for any sign of Sirius.

_Stupid idiot_ , he thinks furiously. _Where is he?_

“And it’s Lightfoot of Gryffindor with the Quaffle now - ooh, nicely intercepted by Ravenclaw Chaser Fenwick. He’s got a clear path; Vane better be prepared - and yes, Ravenclaw score the first goal of the year! 10-0 to Ravenclaw!”

Gritting his teeth, James abandons his look-out and flies into the middle of the action once more as the cry of “Ra-ven-claw, Ra-ven-claw!” floats up from the stands. _Stupid bloody Sirius._ He’s their best Beater, and their best line of defence, and playing one man down is clearly showing, especially when Ravenclaw manage to score once more in the next few minutes.

Something whooshes past his ear, nearly toppling him off his broom, quickly followed by the other Gryffindor Beater, Meredith Oliphant. “James, concentrate!” she screeches at him as she flies past in pursuit of the Bludger that has their Seeker, Cassie Wilson, in its line of attack. 

Rachel passes him the Quaffle and, tucking it securely under his right arm, he speeds off towards the other end of the pitch. From the corner of his eye he can make out the blue-clad blurs of Fenwick and Boot, two of Ravenclaw’s Chasers, just behind him, trying to close him in, but with another burst of speed from his Nimbus James breaks free from their advances and is into the scoring area.

::

The thunk of the heavy wooden plank on the other side of the door sliding into place echoes throughout the room. Remus listens as Madam Pomfrey recites the usual enchantments; he hears the creak of the trapdoor, counts the descending footsteps until he can hear nothing but his own ragged breathing.

::

An explosion of cheers from the stands greets James as he scores Gryffindor’s first goal. He allows himself a small smile, starting to feel a bit more confident. Ravenclaw’s Keeper, a gangly Fifth Year called Midgen, has a habit of neglecting his left goal hoop, something that James is gearing up to take advantage of again, easily taking possesion of the Quaffle once more, when another roar from the crowd stops him momentarily.

The Gryffindor supporters are all shouting and cheering, and James wonders if Cassie has seen the Snitch, but -

“- and Beater Black is joining the game at last! What a welcome sight for the Gryffindor team!”

James seizes his chance as Midgen gapes, open-mouthed, as Sirius soars upwards with an inane grin on his face and a cheeky wave to Madam Hooch. The Quaffle sails effortlessly through the goal, and over the stamping and cheering from the stands, Sirius yells, “Nice one, James!” and despite himself James can’t even find it in him to be mad anymore, because Sirius is here now, and that’s all that matters.

::

Remus takes off his school robes, shirt and trousers, folding them neatly across the back of a rickety old chair, and puts his shoes carefully next to each other underneath.

He takes a deep breath, and waits.

::

As night descends properly now, the stands and pitch are illuminated by lanterns, and James thinks he can just about make out Peter, stood with the McKinnons, cheering him on. By his side, Sirius casually deflects a Bludger, sending it spinning off towards the Ravenclaw Seeker who just manages not to fall off his broom, and James laughs into the cool night breeze as the chants of “Gryffindor, Gryffindor!” fill the air.

::

The moon rises, and Remus breaks.

::

In those horrible first few moments of waking, when the taste of his own blood mingles with bile at the back of his throat, Remus dares not move from his position on the hard wooden floor of the shack, savouring the feeling of his own body. His chest, pressed against the dusty floorboards, rising and falling as he breathes in the thick, dank air; the pounding in his head; the ache in his torso and arms, and the thumping of his heart reverberating throughout, tapping out a frantic rhythm, but a rhythm that sings _I’m human. Human human human._

He stretches out a hand, looking at the blue-green veins that are visible through his pale skin. He flexes his fingers, muscles screaming in protest, and draws a line in the dust with one shaky index finger. 

Sighing, Remus closes his eyes, white spots popping behind his eyelids, and tries to guess the time. Madam Pomfrey never comes right away - fragments of the wolf linger, snarling and unbidden at the back of his mind on the mornings after, and so Remus is usually left on his own for a good hour or so after sun up. 

Lurching to his feet, his stomach roiling, Remus makes his way unsteadily to the mirror hanging on the wall. Through the crack down its centre, Remus stares at his distorted reflection, and winces at the sight of the large purple bruise blooming from hip to collar bone. The whole of his right side feels as if he spent all night throwing himself at the walls. He’s bleeding from a cut beneath his left eye, and his neck has a tender looking cut on it in the distinct shape of three claw marks. 

Remus lowers himself carefully on to the large king-size bed and stares up at the ceiling, counting spiders. He wishes the shack had windows, or that he was allowed to bring his wand with him, but both are luxuries too dangerous to afford. 

After a second, or an hour, Remus hears footsteps, and not the patient, careful footsteps of Madam Pomfrey, but quick, hurried steps that stop outside the door. “ _Alohamora!_ ” a voice says, and Remus thinks, groggily, _I know that voice_ , and then, a bit more urgently, _I’m not wearing any trousers_ , and then Sirius bursts through the door and Remus promptly rolls over and throws up over the side of the bed.

::

He wakes up in the Hospital Wing, Sirius by his bedside. Sirius leans closer as Remus stirs into wakefulness, his grey eyes worried.

“Feeling any better?”

“I feel like I’ve been beaten by trolls,” Remus rasps.

Sirius hands him a glass of water. “You look like it, to be fair.” He’s silent as Remus gulps down the water, watching Remus closely. “You’re heavier than you look, you know,” he says, once Remus is done.

Remus groans. He does not want to know how Sirius knows this, but Sirius, being Sirius, gives him a blow-by-blow account of how he had to carry Remus back to school after Remus passed out. Remus stares at his empty water glass, feeling heat on the back of his neck, especially when he realises he’s still not wearing any trousers. 

“You shouldn’t come to see me, after,” Remus mumbles. “It’s not safe, you know that.”

“Oh, shush,” Sirius says commandingly. “Good thing I did, eh? Who would have carried you - starkers, might I add - back here if I hadn’t?”

“That would be me,” Madam Pomfrey says briskly, sweeping over when she sees Remus is awake. “Although, I may have taken the time to dress him, Mr Black, but your heroics are admirable.” She hands Remus another glass of water, tinged yellow with a healing potion, and gives Sirius a stern look. “Next time, I suggest you leave him to my care - or are you after my job, Mr Black?”

Sirius grins at her, tipping back on his chair. “I wouldn’t look half as good in the uniform, Madam Pomfrey.”

Madam Pomfrey busies herself with fluffing Remus’ pillow, but when she straightens up Remus notices a definite glow in her cheeks. She coughs, and says, “Right, well, Mr Lupin needs his rest. Now that you have seen him safely back on school grounds, perhaps we can leave him to get dressed?”

“Yes, please,” Remus says weakly, thinking longingly of clothes.

Sirius gets to his feet, swinging his arms. “Right you are, Madam Pomfrey. Remus, mate - I’ll see you later, yeah?”

Remus nods, looking forward to getting some sleep on an actual bed, even if most of it is medically induced. Sirius disappears around the curtain for a second, and then pops his head back round, still grinning.

“Oh, yeah, forgot to mention - we won,” he says, ducking out again before Madam Pomfrey can reach him.

Remus smiles slowly, settling back against the pillows and closing his eyes. _Good_ , he thinks, and finally lets sleep take him.


	23. five christmases.

_1973._

_Christmas Eve._

As his mother finishes putting the last of the presents under the tree, Remus has to admire the effect. The Lupin Christmas tree does look good this year. His parents have replaced a few of the more battered ornaments, and the tree is a delightful mix of the magical and Muggle. There is a bauble with a moving picture of a snowy Hogsmeade scene that Remus recently bought, alongside a bauble that Remus remembers decorating himself when he was four-years-old, depicting a very wonky and lopsided star. Their fairy lights are of the standard electrical variety, and the angel on the very top of the tree bursts loudly into song and the occasional catcall whenever someone walks by.

“Perfect,” Hope says, standing back and smiling at the scene. “Don’t you think, Remus?”

“Very nice,” Remus agrees from over the rim of his mug of hot chocolate. “Isn’t it, Dad?” he adds, as his father wanders into the living room, nose buried in the _Evening Prophet_.

“What’s that?” Lyall looks up distractedly. He stares at his wife and son for a long moment, a blank expression on his lined face. His heavy brows contract as Remus nods in the direction of the tree, and Lyall says, “Oh, yes! Quite. Yes, it’s lovely, dear.” He leans across to give Hope a kiss on the cheek, and she smiles wearily. 

“I am trying to make Christmas special,” she says. “You could be a bit more interested.”

Lyall’s head jerks up from the paper again. “Hm? Oh, I am! Very interested. It’s a lovely tree, I said.”

“What’s that you’re reading?” Hope demands, trying to look at the paper, but Lyall snatches it away hurriedly.

“Oh, nothing important, dear,” Lyall says unconvincingly, with a look at Remus that Remus doesn’t miss. Still, he pretends to be immensely interested in staring at the tree until his vision blurs and he has to blink. “Just a bit of, ah, an article I’m interested in...”

Hope’s eyes narrow, and she seizes the paper from her husband. Her eyes scan the paper quickly, and then she puts a hand to her mouth and lets out a small murmur of, “Oh, no.”

“It won’t get passed,” Lyall says quietly, rubbing his wife’s shoulder. Remus notices he’s pointedly not looking anywhere near his son. “It’s just a bunch of radicals trying to win votes with the extremists, that’s all.”

“It’s about werewolves, then?” Remus asks, and both of his parents look at him at last. His dad runs a hand through his thinning hair, looking shifty, and his mother’s eyes are watery. Remus takes a breath. “Can I read it?”

Abruptly, his father pulls his wand out of his pocket and, with a neat tap, vanishes the paper entirely. “It’s nothing to worry about, son. Just a stupid side article. Nasty business. Best not to be thought of.”

“But if it involves me -”

Remus is interrupted by his mother speaking suddenly, her voice wobbling. “Do you want another hot chocolate, Remus?” 

She walks over to stand beside his chair, brushing his hair away from his forehead with trembling fingers. 

Remus sighs. He hates seeing his parents like this, especially his mum. When his mother was a child, werewolves were the things from her nightmares. He doubts very much she ever imagined having to deal with any of this. 

“That’d be great, Mum.”

“And then off to bed!” Lyall says, smiling genially as Hope whisks herself off to the kitchen. “Bet you can’t wait to open your presents, eh, son?”

Remus glances under the tree, to the two boxes with labels that bear his name; one is a neat rectangle, the other lumpy. A box of chocolates and a new jumper would be nice, he thinks, even if his parents gifts never quite caption the imagination. Still, his favourite blue jumper is fraying a bit at the cuffs and has gone a bit baggy around the hem, and he does like chocolate, so he supposes he can’t complain too much. 

“Absolutely,” Remus says, straight-faced. He wonders, briefly, what his friends will get him this year (last year, a leather-bound notebook from Sirius, and James and Peter had seemingly clubbed together to buy half of Zonko’s, most of which is still stored under his bed upstairs) and then pushes the thought aside, guilt squirming in his stomach.

His dad claps him on the shoulder, looking grateful. “You’re a good boy, Remus,” he says.

Remus nods. He knows he is.

::

_Christmas morning._

Peter chews on his fingernails when he’s nervous, and sometimes just when he’s bored or unsure what to do with his hands. A habit his mother despairs of - when he was younger she tried putting doxycide on his fingers to get him to stop - and he glances over his shoulder now, in case his mum is lurking about somewhere, ready to pounce and lecture him again.

He’s stood on the front porch of his mother’s house, the early morning sun dazzlingly bright amongst the stark white of the surrounding snow. Peter strains his ears for any sound disturbing the sleepy hush of their street, and he can’t help but worry at a hangnail on his thumb as he squints down the road for any sign of his dad.

“I hope he’s apparating,” his mother says sharply from behind him, making Peter jump; he accidentally tears at the fragile skin on his thumb, a speck of red immediately pooling up. “Disgusting habit,” Philomena Pettigrew says, as Peter jams his thumb into his mouth. She yanks his arm down, aims her wand at her son’s hands. “ _Episkey!_ ” 

“Thanks,” Peter says, curling his thumb into his palm and shooting another look down the road. “And I dunno how he’s getting here. He didn’t say.”

“Typical,” Philomena says, checking her watch. “And he’s late. Why don’t you just come back inside, Petey, and we’ll have Christmas just us two?”

“I had Christmas here last year,” Peter says uncomfortably, fiddling with the straps on his rucksack. “You said you were okay with this.”

“Okay!” Philomena says shrilly. “Of course I’m okay, Peter. It’s you I’m worried about - it’s not right, him getting your hopes up only to disappoint you. On Christmas day, of all - what in Merlin’s name is that?” she says suddenly, as a strange chugging and clunking sort of noise approaches, disrupting the peace of their road. The racket is closely followed by a dusty looking car trundling round the corner, and Peter’s stomach lurches excitedly.

“He’s come in a car!”

Philomena stares at the car in horror; she outstretches an arm, most likely to grab him and pull him back to assumed safety, but before she can manage Peter has slung his rucksack over one shoulder and bolted down the porch steps.

“See you in two days, Mum!” he calls over his shoulder, and then slides eagerly into the passenger seat.

He hasn’t seen his dad in nearly a year. Richard Pettigrew’s face is fuller, with more colour to his cheeks than Peter thinks he’s ever seen before. In fact, his dad looks generally a lot healthier, although Peter’s not too keen on the new mustache.

“Wow, Dad, I can’t believe you drove all the way here!” Peter says excitedly, gazing around at the car interior. 

He’s been in his Grandpa’s car before when he was a lot younger, and Sirius has diagrams in his Muggle Studies books, but none of that really compares with the prospect of a long journey with his dad. Peter thinks of the drive ahead of them: a father-son road trip, just enough time to catch up on each other’s lives over the past year. Peter can fill his dad in on everything he’s missed; he can tell him all about Hogsmeade, and what he and his mates have been getting up to, and how he got a pretty decent mark in his last Transfiguration essay even if he did have to stay up all night to finish it.

Richard chuckles. “I didn’t. Just wanted to see the look on her face,” he says, jerking his chin at Philomena who still stands, eyes round, on the porch. “I Transfigured a wheelbarrow. Mind you don’t touch anything; don’t want you messing up the spellwork.”

“Oh - er - then how are we getting to your house?”

“Portkey,” Richard says, as they drive around the corner. Visions of the road trip dissolve as they move about two metres and then stop, safely out of view from Peter’s house, and out they get. Journey over. “Hope that’s all right. I remembered Side-Along Apparaition makes you sick.”

“It was just that one time,” Peter mumbles, but Richard isn’t paying any attention, instead glancing around for the portkey.

His dad points to a dog-chewed tennis ball lying by the drain, and checks his watch. “Here we are. Right, you ready?” Peter nods glumly, putting a finger on the ball and trying to brace himself for the inevitable sensation. He just hopes he doesn’t throw up this time, too. “Three…two…one.”

Peter is jerked forward, his vision blurring unpleasantly, and just when he’s getting scared he really might lose his breakfast, they slam down on to blessed earth in an alleyway. Shakily, Peter gets to his feet, brushing himself down. 

His dad grins at him. “All right there, lad? Come on, we’re just around the corner. If Maz asks, we came by train, got it? She hates the idea of portkeys, bless her.”

As they make their way out of the alley and around the corner into a neat little cul-de-sac dotted with houses all of the same shape and size, Peter doesn’t find it hard to imagine the people living here hating the idea of any kind of magic at all. It all seems so normal. His dad leads the way up a pebble-stone path to a house with a blue door and bronze knocker. There are net curtains in all four of the windows visible at the front of the house, a gnome (not a real one, but the scary painted kind) standing guard on the front lawn and a hanging basket full of sickly smelling flowers.

Richard leads the way inside, stamping the snow off of his boots on the welcome mat and shouting out a cheerful, “We’re here!”

Peter hangs back a bit, feeling himself shrinking closer to his dad as two people come out into the hallway. Before he can get a good look at the second, the first woman has seized him in a hug, and Peter nearly chokes on her perfume.

“Oh my goodness, don’t you look adorable! Peter, I am so pleased to meet you.” 

Once released, Peter eyes her warily, trying to conjure a smile. So this is Maureen the Muggle, he thinks. Maz. With big, flicked out hair, large glasses, and very red lipstick, Peter’s first impression is that she smiles a lot more than is necessary, and seems to have more teeth than the average person as well.

“Thank heavens you came in normal clothes, I was beginning to wonder what you might turn up in!” she says with a tinkling laugh that goes through Peter like nails on a chalkboard. “But goodness, don’t you look like Dickie!”

 _Dickie?_ Peter glances at his dad, who is smiling affably. His mother never called him Dickie, or indeed any other nickname. It was always Richard. _Maz and Dickie_. He sincerely hopes he won’t have to have a nickname. His mum and friends call him Pete, Petey, Petey-boy, but that’s different. He imagines this woman calling him any of them, in that voice of hers, and wrinkles his nose. Here in this house, he thinks plain old Peter will do.

“Oh, and how silly of me - Peter, this is my daughter Sharon.”

Maureen gestures with a bangled arm at the girl behind her, and Peter fights the odd urge to laugh. Maureen’s daughter looks about as opposite to her mother as can be. Peter takes in her mini-skirt, the choker around her neck, and general expression of disdain, and feels like he’s eleven-years-old all over again, being introduced to Marlene McKinnon. Although, Marlene does smile quite often - not at him, but still - and this Sharon seems incapable. 

He wishes Sirius were here. Sirius knows how to deal with people like this. He has a way, a certain way of tilting his head and _looking_ at a person, or laughing in a manner that makes the person think he’s got them all figured out, a way of letting people know that he sees them and he isn’t standing for any crap.

Peter just shrivels and chews on his fingernails, until his dad places a large hand on his shoulder and moves him a step forward.

“Go on, you two kids. Get to know each other. Sharon, show Peter where the guest room is.”

Sharon doesn’t even bother to hide her eye roll. “Whatever,” she drawls, walking off without a backwards glance.

 _Well, Merry Christmas indeed_ , Peter thinks miserably, left with no choice but to trail after.

::

_Christmas evening_

Lily is on her back on her bed, legs up against the wall, when the dinging of the doorbell interrupts her new David Bowie record. She ignores it, grimacing at the thought of carol singers (years of Cokeworth carolers have made her wary) but whoever is outside is not giving up.

“Oh, all right,” Lily says, swinging her legs down and padding barefoot into the hallway. “I’m coming.”

Her mum gets there first, and from the top step Lily sees Severus Snape standing in her doorway. He’s wearing his usual overcoat that is looking progressively more tattered each year, and his thin face seems even paler against the dark backdrop of their street.

“Hello, Severus, dear,” Angela Evans says in a tone of surprise, and Lily can’t blame her. The last time Sev came to her house Lily was in primary school.

“Hello, Mrs Evans. Is Lily in?” he asks, trying to peek past into the house. The question is just a formality, and a rusty one at that. Lily knows he would never come over without knowing for certain she was in, and wonders how long he’d been hanging around outside for, watching the light from her bedroom window and steeling himself to ring the doorbell.

After a moment Angela seems to remember herself, and says, “Oh! Yes, come in,” and steps aside, opening the door wider. 

Sev edges into the house. He looks unsure of himself, his hands clenched together in front of him, and looks immensely relieved when Lily walks down two steps and says, “I’m here. Hi, Sev.”

“Would you like anything to eat, love?” Angela asks him, and Lily recognises the concerned, maternal tone in her voice even if it’s foreign to Sev. “You look cold. Kettle’s just boiled if you want a brew.”

“No, thank you, Mrs Evans,” he says, still in that same stiff formal voice. He’s focusing solely on Lily, and doesn’t waste any time when she beckons him up the stairs with a wave of her hand.

Angela frowns after them. “All right. Well, Lily, your father and I are off out to the club soon. Petunia should be home at around 10. The fridge is full if you want to help yourselves,” she adds in a louder voice.

“Thanks, Mum,” Lily says with a smile, leading Sev to her room.

Lily and Petunia had shared a room when they were younger. They used to stay up late sharing jokes and Lily would listen with rapt attention as Petunia would tell her all about the local older children’s gossip. Lily remembers before she got her Hogwarts letter, when she was expected to join her sister at Cokeworth Secondary Modern School, and how Petunia said she would look after her and show her around and how great it would be. And then Lily had come home from her first year at Hogwarts to find her stuff had been moved into the spare room. It was the smaller room of the two, but Lily had done her best with it. 

Her parents had tried to smooth over Petunia’s behaviour by saying how, Petunia being the eldest, she really needed her own space now she was ‘maturing into a woman’ and wouldn’t it be lovely for Lily to have her own room to do what she wanted with, but Lily knew the truth. Lily knew it was because Petunia couldn’t stand the frogspawn and tube of fish eyes in the top drawer, and the robes taking up space alongside her jeans in the wardrobe, and the pictures of Mary and Dorcas waving cheerfully from their frames.

There’s a picture of Lily and Sev too, stuck to a corkboard on the wall along with her red and gold banner and old Brownie badges. This picture doesn’t move, taken with Lily’s dad’s camera two years ago, so the Sev in it is permanently looking a bit shifty and awkward and the Lily doesn’t move from her position at his side, one arm over his hunched shoulders. 

Sev stares at this picture for a long time, and then says, “It’s my dad. He hasn’t been home for three days.”

Lily doesn’t know what to say to this. David Bowie is still singing playing in the background, and she thinks about getting up and stopping it, that maybe it’s inappropriate to be listening to _The Jean Genie_ when your friend has just come out with a statement like that.

“Oh, Sev, I’m sure he’ll be okay,” she offers tentatively, still sat on the edge of her bed. 

Sev laughs derisively. “Of course he’ll be okay. I don’t give a damn about him. He’s probably pissed up in some ditch somewhere, having a right good Christmas.”

Lily blinks, startled. “Sev -”

“Mum’s in a state,” he says, still facing the corkboard, although Lily doubts he’s really looking anymore. “The factory closed down. Laid him off. He’s been unbearable since, Mum says. I came home and asked him why he wasn’t at work the other day. I got a clip ‘round the ear for it, but how was I to know? It’s not like they wrote and told me.” He turns then and looks at her at last, glaring darkly. “I just don’t understand why he has to take it all out on us. He’s such a _prick_.”

“I’m sorry,” she says, not knowing what else to say. “Your mum’ll be okay though, with you there for her.”

Sev’s gaze softens a bit. “She’s sleeping at the moment, so I thought I’d come - come see you. Brought you this.” From underneath his coat he produces a battered, well-used looking book, and he thrusts it out awkwardly to her. She glances down at it in surprise, and reads _Brewing In Your Own Back Garden - Common Potion Ingredients Found in Lancashire and Yorkshire._

“It was my mum’s,” Sev says, after a moments silence in which Lily leafs through the pages. “Sorry it’s not new or anything, but I thought -”

“It’s brilliant,” Lily says truthfully. “Thank you.” He smiles slightly, shrugging. She grins, and jumps off her bed, rummaging around in her school trunk in the corner of the room. “I got you a present too. Here you go,” she says, passing him a package wrapped in tissue paper.

Once opened, Sev looks down at the Augurey quill, a flush on his pale cheeks. “Lily, you shouldn’t have - it costs too much,” he mutters.

“Don’t be stupid. I saw you looking at it when we went to Hogsmeade.”

“Yeah, but - just because I was looking -”

“Shut up,” she says brightly. “Come on, don’t tell me you’re not pleased. Think how fancy the scribblings in all your schoolbooks will be now!”

He stares at the quill for a moment longer, a strange frown on his face, and Lily hopes this isn’t going to cause an argument. To her relief though, he smiles finally, mumbling an embarrassed thanks and the mood of the room lifts.

“Are you sure you don’t want anything to eat?” Lily asks, and when he looks set to protest again, she adds, “I’m getting something for myself anyway.”

They eat leftover turkey and stuffing sandwiches, both lying side by side on Lily’s bed and poring over Lily’s book. Lily looks over all the illustrations and diagrams in interest as Sev explains the best places to go to gather ingredients, all the places his mum used to take him. He’s just describing this patch of woodland not far from here where they can go for a specific type of tree root when the porch light outside turns on, and Sev glances up, looking over at the window.

“It’ll be Petunia and Boring Arnold,” Lily says, not taking her eyes off the book.

Sev sniggers. “Boring Arnold?”

“Yeah, her new boyfriend. God, he’s dull. I hope Tuney ends up with someone a bit more exciting.”

She can sense rather than see his gaze on her as he asks, “Is that what you want then? Exciting?”

Lily pulls a face. “Um. Dunno, really. Not really thought about it.” 

“What, never? I find that hard to believe.”

She chances a sideways glance at him and sees he’s propped himself up on his elbows, staring at her intently. 

“Why?” she shoots back, suddenly self-consciously defensive. “What kind of type do you want?”

She blushes nearly as soon as she’s said it, aware that they’re really quite close on the bed, but then Sev laughs and shakes his head. “I don’t have time to think of that stuff. I think I’m probably too picky anyway.”

“God forbid a girl doesn’t live up to your _standards_ , Severus,” Lily says, rolling her eyes, and he smiles. 

From outside Lily can hear the muffled voices of Petunia and Boring Arnold, and she gets off the bed to go look. “It’s a good job Mum and Dad are out,” she murmurs, as it looks like Petunia is trying to eat him alive. Gross.

Sev comes to stand next to her. “If only I had my wand on me. I’d have such a good aim from up here. I could charm their lips together forever.”

“Sev!” Lily says, but giggles. “Statute of Secrecy, remember?”

Sev sighs. “Boring.”

They go back to the book, and after a while Petunia and Boring Arnold must have detached themselves because the front door opens and closes, and someone is running up the stairs. Petunia appears in the doorway, looking flushed and happy, but then stops suddenly at the sight of Severus.

“What is he doing here?”

“Hello to you too,” Lily says mildly. “Had a good evening?”

Sev smirks, and Petunia must notice because she scowls suddenly, crossing her arms and adopting her bossiest voice. “It’s getting late, Lily. I think it’s time he left, don’t you?”

“Sev is my guest,” Lily says. “I’ll decide when he has to leave, thanks.”

“Lily,” Petunia insists, in a carrying voice. “I really don’t think it’s appropriate for you to have a boy in your bedroom at this time of the night!”

“Yeah?” Sev interjects. “Well, l I don’t think it’s appropriate for you to spend half an hour attached to your boyfriend’s face where anybody could walk by and see, but there you are.”

“You were spying on me?” Petunia shrieks. “You little pervert!”

Sev rolls his eyes but says no more. Lily, however, can feel her temper rising. Why does her sister always have to be such a _cow?_

“Sev was right, we should have hexed your faces together. Bet you’d have loved it.”

The effect is instantaneous. Petunia takes a step back as if they’d actually drawn their wands on her, her eyes wide and fearful. “Are you threatening me?” she says, trying and failing to maintain her authoritative tone. “Your freak boyfriend better get out of here right now, Lily, or I swear -”

“Not my boyfriend,” Lily sing-songs, quite enjoying the effect. She knows she shouldn’t wind Petunia up like this, but sometimes her sister makes her so _angry_.

“Fine,” Petunia snarls. “Whatever he is. Your freaky little _pet_ , then.”

The light bulb in the middle of the room smashes, and Petunia’s scream fills the sudden darkness. Lily feels Sev tense beside her, and he doesn’t relax even when Petunia’s shadowy figure leaves the room with a wounded cry of, “I’m telling Mum and Dad!”

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Lily says quietly, switching on her bedside table lamp.

“I didn’t mean to,” Sev snaps. “No wand, remember? Anyway, you were the one who said you were going to use magic against her.”

“You said it first!”

“Not to her face,” Sev says, as if Lily’s an idiot, and that nettles her even more. Probably sensing the warning signs, Sev gets to his feet with a weary look. “I better get going; your parents aren’t going to be too happy when they get back.”

Lily doesn’t argue, just mumbles a goodbye as he steps over the glass on the carpet and lets himself out.

Lily glares at the wall separating her room from her sisters’. She hopes she gets to her parents before Petunia does. Knowing her sister, she’ll probably make it sound as if they attacked her or something, and then Sev will probably be banned completely from the house.

With a resigned sigh, Lily gets the dustpan and brush from downstairs, and sets about clearing up the mess on her floor.

::

_Boxing Day morning_

Christmas seems to go on for days at Grimmauld Place. Sirius isn’t sure if it’s tradition, or just because his parents are pompous show-offs, but the best silverware has been out since Christmas Eve, the Floo has been full of people coming and going, and Father has taken on another house-elf temporarily because Kreacher looked set to collapse and Regulus wouldn’t shut up about it not being fair he had to do all the work.

Christmas had been just the four of them, seated ridiculously far apart in the grand dining table so that Sirius actually had to raise his voice to answer his father’s questions. It had gone as well as these occasions ever go. He’d deflected any personal questions away as easily as if they were Bludgers, sticking to safe topics, and tried not to antagonise anyone. He’d received a letter from James’ parents before leaving Hogwarts telling him to keep his head down, and though at first he’d scoffed at it, he had to admit following their advice at least led to a quiet life. 

His parents were in their best robes, and Sirius and Regulus had a new set each with a special secret pocket on the inside for concealing a wand. They weren’t the most comfortable garments in the world; the collars too stiff and the hems out to trip them both up. On Boxing Day Sirius is looking forward to wearing something a tad more casual, but his Mother has different ideas.

“Sirius, do put on your new dress robes; you look so smart in them,” Walburga says, pausing in Sirius’ doorway. 

Sirius hesitates. He dislikes his mother being in such a nice mood - the rarity of it by itself is unsettling, but more often than not it means she’s probably up to something. He wishes she’d just pick a mood and stick with it; all the changes and ups and downs make it hard to keep track of what she’s going to do next.

“Bit fancy for Bella and Cissy, isn’t it?” he asks.

Walburga smiles thinly. “A few other guests are coming. Remember, Sirius, you are the heir to the House of Black, and you will receive our guests dressed accordingly.”

Aunt Druella and Uncle Cygnus arrive in the afternoon, and not long after, his cousins and their husbands. Narcissa looks withdrawn and pale beside Malfoy who has his usual self-satisfied smirk on his face, and Bellatrix apologies that Rabastan couldn’t make it as he’s working very hard at the moment and can’t get away. Sirius never knew Rabastan Lestrange even had a job, but Lucius and Rodolphus seem to find this hilarious, giving Sirius the impression there’s something he’s missing out on here.

Sirius assumes that this is it, but then Kreacher walks into the room and bows. “Miss Carrow is here, Mistress,” he says, and Sirius feels his stomach drop as Cressida Carrow appears in a hideous pink dress and smiles revoltingly at him.

“Ah, delightful!” Walburga says. “My dear, come in, come in. So good of you to join us. Now, Sirius, you remember Cressida, from the wedding, yes? Why don’t you give her a tour of the house while we all wait for supper?”

Regulus sniggers into his hand, and Sirius kicks him behind the knee. His last conversation with Bella ringing in his ears, Sirius nods stiffly and extends an arm to Cressida. He represses the ungentlemanly urge to shove her away as she takes it.

“You look very handsome,” she says, batting her eyelashes at him.

Sirius can feel his mother’s gaze on him. “Thanks,” he mumbles, ignoring the turning of his stomach, and yanks her from the room.

He’s determined to make the tour as quick as possible, hating his mother all the more with every room he shows. Cressida asks endless questions, gasping over the supposed grandeur of the house, and prattles off information about herself that Sirius can’t bring himself to care about. By the time he’s shown her nearly all the rooms the only thing he can remember is she’s a Slytherin, a Fifth Year, and apparently came to watch his last Quidditch match.

“You fly extremely well,” she tells him, as they pass the rows of stuffed elves heads coming down the stairs.

“Yeah, I know,” he says unenthusiastically. “Anyway, this is the study -” he goes to open it, but finds it locked. Leaning closer, Sirius hears voices and wonders why everyone has gone into the study rather than one of the large reception rooms, but after a while realises it’s not everyone in there, just a few. He holds up a hand to silence Cressida, and puts his ear to the door.

“…Lucius, you should have been there,” Bella says. “Rab and Dolph were superb. I’ve never seen such an ingenious use of a Stinging Hex.”

“That filthy Mudblood-lover won’t be campaigning anymore,” Rodolphus says with a harsh laugh. 

“Any more luck with Vaynor?” Lucius’ lazy drawl asks.

Again, its unmistakably Bella that speaks. “Oh, it will only be a matter of time. She’s weak, easily susceptible. Her days as Minister are numbered.”

“Good. And there was no trouble, with the raid?”

“We were able to get away before the Aurors started swarming. Of course they’ll keep the press of the scent for a while, which is good -”

“Good!” Bella shrieks. “People should know! They should know the price for their idiotic ideology. We need to spread our Lord’s message.”

“A few more articles like Gus’, and the message should spread by itself,” Lucius says. “It’s better that way, Bella; make the masses think it was their idea in the first place.”

“I must say, for an Unspeakable, Augustus does have a way with words. Perhaps he should consider a side career.”

The room is full of laughter, but Sirius, on the other side, feels as if he’s about to throw up. He’s forgotten all about Cressida, until she suddenly speaks.

“It’s all terribly exciting, isn’t it?” she says rapturously. “I can’t wait to join. My uncle's already in."

Sirius’ mouth has gone dry. He runs his tongue over his parched lips, and asks, “Join? Join what?”

For the first time that evening, Cressida looks at him as if he’s less than perfect. “Join _them_ , of course! The -”

The door opens, and Sirius nearly falls over into the room. Rodolphus is on his feet, wand drawn; Lucius, in a chair, looks merely mildly intrigued. It’s Bella, looming over him, smiling, that scares him.

“Sirius. How lovely. Hear anything interesting?” she asks casually.

Before he can think up a suitable answer, Bella jerks her head dismissively and Lucius and Rodolphus vacate the room, Rodolphus stopping to offer to escort Cressida to supper.

“Now we can talk,” Bella says. “Cousin to cousin. I assume you have questions about what you have heard tonight, and I assure you I am not going to lie to you, Sirius. You’re too old and too smart for that, and you know I detest lies.”

“You were talking about hurting people,” Sirius says. It comes out mumbled and childish, and he hates himself for it. Bella doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even look remotely ruffled by any of this. “Bella, what - you've hurt people, haven’t you?”

“There will always be those who seek to oppose a new way of life, who fight the changes in this world. My job, Sirius, is to fight for this world and the changes that need to come about. It is my job to eradicate the enemy.”

“The enemy?” Sirius echoes.

He already knows what’s going to come out of her mouth before it does, so it probably shouldn’t sting as much as it does. “The Mudbloods, Sirius. The Mudblood filth and Muggle-lovers and deserters. All the half-breeds and vermin. Anyone not of pure birth, anyone who tarnishes our good name or tries to oppress the wizarding race.”

People like Andromeda, Sirius thinks. People like Ted, and the Potter’s. And Remus. 

“I told you the time is coming to pick a side. A storm is coming, Sirius, the likes of which you have never seen. It will be beautiful to behold.”

“You mean there’s going to be a war?” Sirius asks quickly, his heart hammering painfully in his chest.

Bella smiles slowly. “A revolution. You’ll see, Sirius, when you meet Him - when you meet our Lord. As soon as you’re done with Hogwarts, you’ll be accepted straight away, how could you not be? You’ll be one of His finest soldiers.”

Later, Sirius won’t remember how long he stood facing his cousin; him in the darkened hallway and her in the doorway to the study, the lamps illuminating her features, her eyes gleaming with excitement. He won’t remember all the thoughts zooming through his mind, and he won’t admit to the fear coursing through him. Later, he’ll also try to forget that, for the briefest of moments, he was, just a bit - tempted. 

“What do you say, Sirius?” Bella breathes. “Will we stand together?”

He thinks of Ted first, surprisingly, of his warm hospitality and firm handshake; then of Andromeda and her unrelenting defence of her love, of what they’ve been through to be together. He thinks of little Nymphadora, her hair a hundred different colours, and he thinks of Jasper and Althea Potter sticking up for him on the platform. He thinks of James, and Peter, and of Remus battling the monster inside him every month and still being one of the most decent human beings Sirius has ever known.

Sirius straightens up, looks his cousin in the eye. “Fuck off, Bella.”

For the first time ever, Bella looks taken aback, but only for a second until she frowns. “What did you say?” she asks softly.

“You’re a loony,” he says with a laugh he can’t keep in. “If you really believe all that. You’re mad.”

“You’re making a big mistake.”

Sirius shakes his head. “I’ll risk it, thanks. Now, if you’ll pass my apologies on to Mother, I’m not really feeling hungry anymore.”

He waits until he knows he’s definitely out of sight before breaking out of his casual stroll into a full blown sprint, pelting up the stairs until he gets to his room. Once inside he heads immediately to his chest of drawers and pulls open the top drawer with such force he almost rips it clear away. There, buried among his socks, is a mirror. His Christmas present from James.

“James,” he whispers into it, eyes frantically searching the glass and swearing when he only sees his own worried expression staring back at him. He gives it a shake. “James Potter. Come on. James James _James_.”

The thin face of James appears, frowning, shoving on his glasses hastily. “Sirius, what’s up? I was asleep.”

“James, this is important,” Sirius says, and it all comes tumbling out, all of it; Sirius talks until his voice starts to rasp, but still he carries on. Finally, breathlessly, he says, “I told you there was something going on. I _told_ you.”

James is still frowning. “Well,” he says slowly. “Forgive me if I don’t congratulate you, mate.”

“What are we going to do?” Sirius demands.

“Tell Dumbledore,” James says at once. “This sounds pretty huge. I mean, if it is all connected, all the disappearances and the recent killings - I mean, have you heard about the Muggles in Swansea? Their whatsits, the please-people, their stumped, Dad says. Has to be wizards behind it.”

Sirius gnaws on his bottom lip. “Dumbledore already knows. Remember over the summer, when he met up with Ted and Drom? I knew there was something going on!”

“Yes, well done you. If Dumbledore already knows, and the Aurors know, then - well, there’s not a lot that can be done, is there? Sounds like it’s all already going on.”

“I want to help. I want to fight.”

“Sirius, we’re thirteen.”

“I’m fourteen,” Sirius says quickly.

James runs a hand through his hair in one irritable movement. “Well, grab your wand and sally forth, then! Sorry. I don’t mean to be - unhelpful, or whatever, but I don’t see what we can do.”

“I hate them, all of them,” Sirius says viciously. “I can’t wait to leave this place. I knew they were bigots, but my own cousin - I used to let her braid my hair!”

“Really?” James looks momentarily amused.

“Tell no one,” Sirius mutters. He sighs, flopping back on to his bed, holding the mirror above him. “Merlin, this is so messed up. I’m going to have to sleep with one eye open or something.”

“For what it’s worth, I think you can take her,” James says encouragingly.

Sirius cracks a smile. A sudden creaking sound on the landing outside makes him turn his head. “Gotta go,” he mouths to James, who waves briefly before vanishing from view. Sirius listens hard, wondering if it’s Bella or Cressida creeping around. He’s not sure which is worse, a crazy cousin or a clingy wannabe future bride. After a while he decides it must just be Kreacher, looking for old heirlooms to lick or whatever he does. Probably sent to spy on him.

“Kreacher,” he says loudly, and true enough, the elf edges in from outside the door. 

“Yes, Master Sirius?”

“Fetch me a sandwich, would you? I’m starving.”

“As Master commands,” Kreacher says, throwing him a look of deep dislike before disappearing with a _crack_ , and reappearing moments later with a plate piled high with sandwiches. 

“Leave now, and stop hanging about outside my room,” Sirius orders.

Kreacher mutters under his breath as he goes. From downstairs Sirius can hear the festivities continuing. He knows he’ll be in trouble tomorrow, for abandoning Cressida, for skipping supper, for refusing to become a homicidal maniac probably, but suddenly he’s too tired to care. He finishes his food, leaving the plate on the side for Kreacher to take care of, and before he can even change out of his hideous dress robes, he’s overcome with sleep.

::

_Boxing Day evening_

“Dad?”

Jasper Potter looks up from the parchment he’s writing on to see his son in the doorway to his study. Setting aside his quill, Jasper indicates James come in, and gestures at the chair opposite.

James sits down, relieved his dad is still awake at this late hour. He’s just finished talking to Sirius, and now his brain won’t shut off and let him get back to sleep.

“What’s the matter, son?” Jasper takes off his glasses, wiping them with a handkerchief. The initials JP are formed in gold lettering along one side, and James stares at this for a long time thinking of what to say.

“I - I think Sirius is in trouble,” James says, not sure where to start. “I mean, he told me about - he had a bit of a run in with his cousin today. Bellatrix Lestrange.” His dad nods, a frown line appearing on his forehead, and James hesitates for just a moment before blurting out, “Is there some sort of Dark wizard trying to kill all the Muggle-borns?”

Jasper stares at his son for a very long time, his hands steepled together under his chin. Then, he conjures up a pot of freshly brewed tea and two china mugs, handing one over to James.

“Brown or white sugar?”

“Er - brown.”

“Biscuits?”

“What? No, Dad - look, what’s going on?”

Jasper sighs. “James. You are my son, and there are things in this world that I still want to protect you from. Do you understand that?”

“Yes,” James says impatiently. “Yes, of course I do, but -”

“Your mother and I met in the height of the war, you know. It was a terrible time. Fighting non-stop, and then of course the Muggles started doing some fighting of their own. I went to London a few times during those days, and it was awful. You can’t imagine the damage everyone did to each other. All the buildings that were ruined, the lives lost - all for what? One man’s stupid dreams, and the idiots foolish enough or scared enough to follow. So many young people died, James. So many wasted lives. Of course I wasn’t sprightly, even back then, but I did what I could to help our side. Your mother was the one ray of light I had, and we married not long before Grindlewald was defeated.”

James doesn’t say anything; he knows all this, but he’s sure his father is going somewhere.

“I wasn’t a child when the war began, James. I remember what it felt like. The build up, the tension - you can feel it, you know. You can sense the fear on the streets, the whispers, the rumours. It feels a lot like it does now.”

“So - you think there’s going to be a war too?” James asks.

Jasper stares down at his stacks of parchment. “I think history is doomed to repeat itself. I think people never learn. But,” he adds softly, “I also believe, and have seen first hand, the integrity and downright kindness people can show each other even in the darkest of times. I don’t want to scare you, James, but I don’t want to coddle you - I think the wind is rising; I think a lot of people have gotten stirred up into a frenzy over another Dark agenda spun by someone charismatic enough to make it all sound terribly noble and deserved. Just remember, when the time comes, be true to yourself. Follow your heart, and do good by others, and you too can find your light. It is, after all, the light that banishes the dark from this world.”

James reaches for a cup and takes a sip of tea. After a moment he takes a biscuit too. He wishes Sirius were here, to hear this. His dad has the ability to be calm and unflappable even when James is freaking out about things. 

“Have I frightened you?” Jasper asks, eyebrows drawn tightly together.

“No,” James says truthfully. “No. After all, if history repeats itself, we’ll be okay, won’t we? We’ll make it through. You moved on after the war. You found Mum, and had me, and your lives were instantly a million times better -”

Jasper laughs. “I got a million times greyer, if that’s what you mean. It’s genetic, so I look forward to when your own son starts putting a few greys on that mop of yours with his antics, and I can have a good old laugh.”

“I’m never getting grey,” James says with a grin, his spirits lifted. 

After all, he has his parents, and his friends, and they’ll be back at Hogwarts soon enough. Whatever is out there, waiting for them, they’ll face it together.


	24. friendship, or something like it.

_January 1974._

The Slytherin common room is silent apart from the sound of Regulus writing his thank-you notes to his relatives for all the Christmas presents he received. He didn’t do too badly this year: a walnut school trunk from Narcissa, with dragonbone handles and inlay, the Black family crest in gold on the front; a sizeable portion of money from both sets of grandparents to add to his Gringott’s savings vault; a book of ancient spells and how to cast them from Bellatrix from her most recent trip to Albania; a dragonhide journal from Aunt Lucretia, complete with a security spell that caused the journal to shriek horrendously if anyone other than the owner tried to read its contents; a chess set of carved onyx goblins and intricate ivory centaurs from Uncle Cygnus and Aunt Druella. There had been a present from Uncle Alphard as well, a portable potions set, although Uncle Alphard himself had been absent this holiday period, which was unlike him. Father had simply said he was still travelling when Regulus asked, although he didn’t say where, and Regulus isn’t sure what address to send his thank-you owl to.

He pauses, flexing the fingers in his right hand to stop them from cramping, and decides to leave his owl to Uncle Alphard until another day. It’s late anyway, nearing midnight, and the embers in the fireplace are dying. The candles and murky green hue from the tall windows offer little light or warmth, and Regulus resigns himself to going to bed. 

He stacks his letters in a neat pile on the middle of the coffee table, and is just about to extinguish the last of the fire when the dungeon door rumbles open and Barty Crouch walks into the common room, yawning and pulling off his cloak.

“What’re you doing?” he asks when he sees Regulus, at the same time that Regulus says, “Why’re you out so late?”

Barty answers first. “I’ve been scrubbing all the suits of armour on the second floor for Filch. By hand - no magic.” He grimaces, taking a seat next to Regulus on the dark green sofa and yawning again. “How he manages that kind of thing all day is beyond me.” 

“Used to it, I suppose,” Regulus says with a shrug, not given to thinking very much about how Squibs cope on a daily basis. As a general rule, he tries not to think about Squibs at all. Mother says they’re dangerous, sly; they’ll steal your wand if given half the chance, the lot of them mad with envy. He’d grown up with the stories about her own Uncle Marius, his singed hole on the tapestry a constant reminder of The Dangers of The Squib. She’d nearly gone apoplectic with fury when Regulus had told her about the school caretaker. “So, what did you do to get a detention?”

“Answered back to McGonagall yesterday,” Barty says, seemingly unperturbed. He’s braver than Regulus; McGonagall scares him. He’s fairly sure she dislikes him, probably because he’s not that great at Transfiguration. “I was having an argument with a Gryffindor Prefect, and she came and stuck her nose in and ordered I apologise! I refused, of course. I think it’s terrible how biased she is, always siding with her own students. Gryffindors always get away with everything.”

Regulus nods fervently. “I know. Sirius -” he breaks off suddenly, unsure of how much to say. After all, Mother always says no one can judge a Black, apart from another Black, and Barty may be family but not in the way that Sirius is. Barty is just an off-shoot of the family tree, just a Crouch.

Barty doesn’t seem to notice any hesitation in the conversation at all. “Your brother gets away with a lot,” he says, nodding agreeably. “It’s a wonder your family don’t just make you the heir.”

Regulus laughs nervously. “Don’t be stupid.”

“I’m being deadly serious,” Barty says, sitting up. “I mean, he seems very ungrateful to me, trampling the family name through the mud with those friends of his.”

Regulus frowns, thinking of how it had been over Christmas. Sirius hadn’t even bothered to hide the fact that he wanted to be somewhere else, not giving a thought to Mother’s feelings or how much effort she’d gone to, inviting the Carrow girl over and everything. Then he’d gone and ruined everything by having some sort of fight with Bella. 

None of the adults would say much about it, but dinner had been a strained and awkward affair with Sirius skulking in his room by himself and Bella practically radiating anger. Regulus had asked what was wrong, what had happened, but before Bella could reply Mother had set her knife and fork down very firmly and said, “I don’t think my son needs to know quite everything just yet, Bellatrix. This is my house and I’d thank you to keep your meetings elsewhere, away from mine.” Bella had gone red and said how it wasn’t her fault, that Sirius shouldn’t be lurking outside doorways and listening to conversations, but then Father had coughed pointedly and Aunt Druella had said how nice the goose was, and Kreacher had been summoned to pour everyone more wine. Regulus still doesn’t know what in Merlin’s name had happened, but he’s fairly sure it’s all Sirius’ fault. 

It’s definitely Sirius’ fault that he now has to deal with Cressida Carrow seeking him out in the common room in the evenings, asking if he’s heard from Sirius about her. Regulus doesn’t have the heart to tell her that, a few days after Christmas, Sirius had told Father and Mother in no uncertain terms that he’d rather marry a flobberworm. 

Maybe Barty has a point. Sirius can be terribly ungrateful at times. 

Still, it’s not for a Crouch to cast judgement on a Black, so Regulus just says, “Potter’s a Pureblood.”

Barty shakes his head. “A blood-traitor is worse than a Mudblood, if you ask me. Mudblood’s can’t exactly help themselves, can they, being born wrong? Some of them can be all right. The half-bloods, anyway. But people who turn their backs on their own kind, that’s disgusting.”

Regulus doesn’t want to think of his brother like this. One fight with Bella doesn’t make Sirius a blood-traitor, after all. He turns his best Black sneer on Barty, and asks, with as much disdain as possible, “And what Mudbloods have you been getting friendly with?”

Barty smiles, patting around in his robes until he produces an apple from a pocket.

“Snape is a half-blood, and he’s all right at times. Can’t stand his Muggle father. He hexed James Potter at the start of the year and saved you and your lot.”

“Shut up.”

Barty shrugs, shining the apple on the hem of his robes. “Just repeating what I hear. After all, is the enemy of your enemy not your friend?”

Regulus’ head hurts. He knows Snape is friendly with Jarvis Avery and Joseph Mulciber, and the Black’s have known the Avery’s and the Mulciber’s for generations, but from a very early age Regulus’ whole social life has been pretty much planned out for him with a list of acceptable names, and nowhere on that list has the name Snape ever appeared. He wonders if he should ask Cissy about it all. 

As if reading his mind, Barty continues, “If you’re only going to associate with Purebloods only, your choices are limited. Got to broaden your horizons at some point, Regulus.”

“Does your father know how terribly liberal you are?” Regulus mutters.

Barty grins, taking a bite out of his apple. “My father doesn’t know much. Anyway, it’s fitting I suppose. I was almost a Hufflepuff.”

Regulus blinks in surprise. He can’t recall any of his friends ever owning up to nearly being Sorted elsewhere before.

“A Hufflepuff?”

“The Hat said I was very loyal,” Barty says. “Which is true. Did it not consider anywhere else for you?”

Regulus nearly laughs. After the debacle with Sirius, going anywhere other than Slytherin had not been an option, Black or not. He’d practically begged for the green and silver. A part of him had been sad, that he wouldn’t be with his brother like he had always assumed when they were younger, but then he reminded himself that this was Sirius’ doing, that he should have tried harder for Slytherin. It’s Sirius’ fault they’re on opposite sides.

::

Regulus doesn’t think about Snape again until a week later. Slughorn had let slip that he’d be testing them on Anti-Itching Potions in their next lesson, and the night before Regulus is in the common room with his new portable potions set, crouched in front of the scales and diligently measuring out spitweed, when Snape calls, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

“I didn’t ask you, Snape.”

“I know,” Snape says lazily, eyeing Regulus from over the brim of his book. “But I don’t fancy scraping bits of you from the ceiling so soon after we’ve gotten rid of the bundimun problem. So if you want to remain intact, I’d add a little less eye of frog.”

Regulus pauses, swapping looks with Evan, who shrugs. Looking up, Regulus meets Barty’s eye from where he’s sat across the room. Barty’s expression is expectant, encouraging. Sighing, Regulus finally faces Snape, and asks, cautiously, “How much less?”

Snape helps him to brew the rest of the potion, and the next day Slughorn gives Regulus his highest ever mark in Potions. 

Regulus finds Snape in the common room that evening, mumbling a rushed ‘thanks’ in his direction. This is why he prefers to do his thanking in the form if writing, he thinks, uncomfortable under Snape’s indifferent expression.

“It was no trouble,” Snape drawls. “I just hate to see the art of potion making being butchered, that’s all.”

“How did you, er - how did you get so good at it?” Regulus asks. “I mean, if your father is a - a Muggle.”

“Because my mother is a witch,” Snape says slowly, frowning at Regulus. “Witches have a tendency to be able to brew potions.”

“I know that,” Regulus says, curling his hands into fists. He does not appreciate being spoken to like this by Severus Snape of all people. “I just thought maybe your father wouldn’t like it, that maybe you didn’t get a chance to practice or whatever. For all I know you might not even own a cauldron.”

“Who told you that?” Snape asks, red patches appearing in the hollows of his pallid cheeks. “I can assure you, Black, that my mother is an excellent witch, from the Prince family, and that her being married to my father doesn’t make her any less capable. She taught me from a very young age, and obviously it has paid off enough that _you_ so clearly need my help.”

This hasn’t gone at all how Regulus imagined. This is probably why Mother warned him away from people unless they’d met at a Pureblood function. Clearly, being part Muggle made one extremely volatile. Not to mention rude. Must be the mixed blood, Regulus thinks, scowling as Snape turns his back on him and storms out of the dungeons.

Barty finds it hilarious when Regulus tells him about the encounter. “Well, you probably did come off sounding a bit pompous. Assuming he didn’t have a cauldron and all that.”

“How was I to know?” Regulus demands. “I’ve never properly spoken to a half-blood before. He lives in a Muggle town, doesn’t he? I don’t know what goes on in such places.”

“You are a snob,” Barty says, but he’s still laughing.

::

The next time Regulus runs into Snape there’s nothing funny about it. It’s a blustery Thursday afternoon and Regulus is battling his way through the wind, his scarf whipping him in the face as he walks, head bowed, across the courtyard towards his Charms lesson. 

Coming around a pillar, Regulus nearly walks into Snape, who is stood with his back against the stone wall, wand gripped tightly in his hand as he faces off against James Potter and - Regulus blanches - Sirius.

Sirius’ head swivels almost comically as he looks at his brother. “Reg,” is all he says.

Snape, taking advantage of Sirius’ momentary distraction, aims his wand and sends a jet of red light soaring at Sirius’ face. Regulus feels the heat from the spell even from where he’s stood, and he’s thankful for Potter probably for the first and last time in his life as the older boy pulls Sirius out of harms way.

“That wasn’t very nice, Snivellus,” Potter says, shoving Snape back against the wall with one hand, his other drawing his wand out and pushing it precariously close to Snape’s head. “We just wanted a chat, that’s all.”

“Heard that Mary Macdonald got hit with a levitation spell yesterday. Got sent upside down in the air in front of a whole crowd of people. Wouldn’t have anything to do with you, would you?” Sirius asks, regaining his composure quickly.

Regulus knows he should just leave well enough alone. He should just carry on his way to Charms, just walk away. What’s it to him if Potter and Snape and his brother all hex each other into oblivion? If they kill each other, they would all be one less problem for him to worry about anyway. Still, Regulus recognises the twist of his brother’s smile, sees the glint in Potter’s eyes, and knows that this - two on one, and Potter and Sirius are both bigger than Snape - this isn’t right.

“Leave him alone,” Regulus says.

“Get lost, Regulus,” Sirius snaps, not looking at him.

“I don’t know anything about it,” Snape says. “So what if the Mudblood showed her knickers to a bunch of people? What are you, her knights in shining armour?”

“You’re disgusting,” Potter snarls, pushing harder against Snape’s shoulder. “Do you kiss Evans with that mouth?”

Despite the position he’s in, Snape manages a smirk. “Why? Jealous, Potter?”

“Of being a slimy, unwashed git?” Potter says coldly. “I think not. I was just wondering how Evans would feel knowing that you’re the reason one of her mates ended up hoisted in the air in the first place. Or are you still pretending to be her harmless misunderstood friend?”

“You know nothing about Lily and I,” Snape says, looking angrier than he has done so far. 

He tries to push back against Potter, but Potter is stronger and easily sends him back into the hard brick of the wall. Snape’s head hits the brick with a thud, and Sirius laughs.

It’s his brother’s laugh, echoing off the walls, that sends Regulus into action. Without thinking he lurches forward and pushes James Potter as hard as he can. Caught off guard, Potter staggers sideways, releasing his hold on Snape. 

“Oi!” Potter shouts, glaring at Regulus, but Regulus whips out his own wand and holds it in front of him. He wishes his hands weren’t shaking.

Potter blinks down at the wand, and then glances uncertainly at Sirius. Sirius is staring at Regulus with a narrow expression.

“Put the wand down, Reg,” he says wearily. 

“Why, so you can both hex me?”

“I’m not going to hex you,” Potter says, and Regulus notices his own wand is held limply at his side. He lifts his other hand, and Regulus instictively draws back, but Potter merely adjusts his glasses, and then smiles slowly at Regulus’ reaction. “Jumpy,” he observes.

“Shut your mouth.”

Potter shrugs, and then says, casually, “Your mate’s gone.”

Regulus, confused, at last relaxes enough to look around and sees that Snape has indeed done a runner.

Sirius snorts. “Not one for heroics, eh? For all he knows he’s left you to be cursed into a billion biddy bits.” Regulus tenses, for a moment thinking that Sirius will turn his wand on him, but Sirius just looks bored and faces Potter instead. “C’mon, James. We better get to History of Magic, or even Binns might notice we’re late.”

Potter nods agreeably, pocketing his wand and wiping his hands on his robes. He pauses before turning to go, giving Regulus a smarmy smile and mocking salute, and Regulus clenches and unclenches his fists, wishing he had the guts to send a curse at him, right between the shoulder blades. Sirius would, a voice whispers in his ear. 

“Shut up,” Regulus says to no one, his words swiftly carried away by the wind. 

::

He doesn’t speak to Snape for nearly three days after. Regulus will see glimpses of him in the hallways between lessons, obscured by other students; he catches sight of Snape’s black cloak always fluttering just out of sight around corners, or else Snape will uncannily have always just stepped out whenever Regulus enters the common room. 

It isn’t until Regulus determinedly tracks him down on Sunday evening, ferreting him out at last in the library, that they finally come face to face. Or, not exactly face to face, as Snape refuses to look at him, staring instead at the book opened up on the table in front of him.

“Are you stalking me?” Snape mutters, as Regulus pulls up a chair beside him. “Because I tell you now, it’s not flattering.”

“I’m not stalking you. I just - wanted to talk. About the other day -”

“Save it. I don’t need your pity. I didn’t need you butting in.”

Regulus bristles. “Looked like you needed it from where I was. Or did I misinterpret, and was Potter really massaging your shoulder?”

“Potter,” Snape says, scowling at the book, “is an ingrate.”

“Not disagreeing with you there.”

Snape looks up, his face sullen. “Your brother is worse, you know. I think Potter actually believes he’s on some sort of self-righteous crusade against everybody less than him. Of course, Potter thinks that’s everybody, but then again he is clearly delusional and believes his own fantasies. Your brother though - I think he actually enjoys being a bully. I think he does it for _fun_.”

Regulus stares at the hanging oil lamp, at the bookcases staggering under the weight of hundreds of years of ink, at the wooden table scratched and scarred over the years of frantic studying students. He thinks of his brother, five-years-old and flying Regulus’ toy broom out of reach, laughing as he zooms around the garden of Grimmauld Place as a tearful Regulus runs after him on the ground. He thinks of when Sirius was eight-years-old, spilling an inkwell over the carpet in the drawing room and blaming Kreacher, kicking Regulus in the shin when he tried to protest. He thinks of Sirius after he came home from his first year at school, sullen and temperamental, picking fights and spouting off pro-Muggle rubbish and sounding not at all like the brother Regulus remembered. He thinks of Sirius, four months ago, stood over him in a carriage on the Hogwarts Express, his expression blank and remorseless as boils erupt up Regulus’ arm.

Eventually, he says, “I think you’re right.”

::

_Dear Cissy,_

_Mother said in her last owl that you’re still not quite yourself, and hope by the time this reaches you that you are feeling better. You certainly didn’t seem yourself at Christmas. Mother wouldn’t say what the matter was, but whatever it is, I hope it goes soon!_

_School is much the same as ever. The trunk comes in very handy (thanks again!). I am still hopeless at Transfiguration but I think it’s mostly that McGonagall puts me off with her soul destroying eyes, but you’ll be pleased to know I’m getting better at Potions. I have something of a tutor - a student in the year above, Severus Snape. I’m not sure if you will remember him from your time here. Anyway he helps me out a great deal, he’s really rather clever and has even invented some of his own spells. His mother is Eileen Prince, does the name sound familiar to you at all? He is good friends with Joseph Mulciber - younger brother of Esther, I believe you know her?_

_Give my best to Lucius, and the peacocks!_

_Regulus._

—

_Darling Reg,_

_You are too sweet. I am fine, recovering well thank you. Let’s just say ‘women trouble’ and leave it at that - there, that’s got you wishing you never asked!_

_From the way you listed all the Pureblood names you could, I’m guessing you are asking for my approval on said Severus Snape? Yes, I remember him somewhat. If I recall, he hung around with a carroty Gryffindor, but maybe his taste in associations have improved over the years. One must assume so, if he has made it into your good books!_

_Relax, cousin. The Prince’s were a good line - not 28 material, of course, but good still. I assure you, you shall not be blasted from the tapestry for being his friend! I shouldn’t joke about such things I suppose, but when one is stuck here with no one but elves and peacocks for company, one must try to see the light in situations. Lucius is terribly busy all the time, you see; the next time he is free we should all meet up in Hogsmeade. Perhaps Lucius can owl the school and make up some important reason why we have to see you. We’ll think of something: you’re quite right, it wasn’t the same at Christmas, what with one thing and another, and it would be lovely to see you. Bring your new little chum along as well!_

_All my love,  
Cissy xxx_

::

It’s nearly February when Severus sits next to Regulus without any amount of hesitation at the Slytherin table.

“Are you done with the bacon, Regulus?” he asks.

Regulus nearly spills pumpkin juice over the table. “You called me Regulus,” he says stupidly.

“That is your name.”

“What happened to 'Black'?” Regulus asks, handing him the platter of bacon.

Severus shrugs. “Black is your brother,” he says matter-of-factly. “You’re nothing like your brother.”

 _No,_ Regulus thinks, resisting the urge to glance over to the Gryffindor table like he does, reflexively, every morning. _No, I’m not._


	25. valentine's day.

_February 1974._

Valentines Day envelopes the school like a giant marshmallow, sickly sweet and unbearably soft, and Remus thinks it nothing short of horrifying. James and Sirius throw themselves into the spirit, composing ridiculous sonnets - to each other, to random passers-by, even to McGonagall, who spends the first ten minutes of Transfiguration with a vein in her temple twitching dangerously as Sirius tries to rhyme “feline” and “be mine” with each other.

Remus wakes up on the fourteenth to find the canopy above his bed strewn with pink crepe paper. Not only that, but his bedsheets are now pink and his pillow is in the shape of a heart. Despite himself, Remus pauses to admire the spellwork and the effort they’ve gone to, before he yanks his curtains open, releasing a shower of confetti on to his head, and groans aloud at the sight in front of him.

James and Sirius have spared no detail. The whole dormitory is covered in tiny heart-shaped confetti, the walls are a garish pink and paper hearts flutter at the ceiling. After a moment in which Remus is certain he has lost the ability to form words, Peter emerges from his own bed holding a teddy bear and giving Remus a resigned look.

“What can you do, eh?”

Indeed, Remus thinks, and prepares himself for the day ahead.

::

“There was a cherub in my sock drawer, Sirius,” says Remus, sitting down at the table where Sirius and James are already halfway through breakfast. “What have you got to say about that?”

Sirius looks genuinely offended. “I hope you weren’t rude to Cecil.”

“He flew at my head. Nearly took my eye out. I suppose it was your idea to arm him with a miniature weapon?”

“That was a bow,” Sirius says condescendingly, pouring himself a large mug of coffee and dropping in a sugar cube from the bowl. “You’ve been struck by a love arrow, Moony.”

“You’d think he’d be happier about it,” James says, grinning slyly.

“I was nearly blinded,” Remus mutters. James and Sirius ignore this. Peter gives him another sympathetic look, and passes him the marmalade.

“Come on, Remus,” Sirius says, jiggling Remus’ leg with his foot under the table. “Don’t be grumpy. This is my favourite holiday!”

“You say that about every holiday.”

“It’s not my fault I can’t choose,” Sirius says briskly. “I had a deprived childhood.”

Peter frowns. “Didn’t your parents get you a sword for your tenth birthday?”

James snorts into his pumpkin juice. Sirius scowls deeply, and says, with great dignity, “It was a foil, if you must know. Doesn’t mean I wasn’t deprived -”

“Didn’t it have emeralds on the handle?” Peter enquires innocently.

“Shut up, Peter.”

“Speaking of presents,” James says, speaking loudly to interrupt them both, because Peter has adopted that devilish look he can sometimes get when he’s winding them up. “Look.”

The morning post arrives with the usual flapping and screeching of the owls. Sirius turns his head upwards to watch the birds arrive, his eyes shining excitedly. James looks equally gleeful, and Remus sets down his toast cautiously, looking between his two friends. Peter too is looking suspicious. 

Remus thinks back to three days ago, when they were all in the common room together. Remus had been working on his essay for Defence Against The Dark Arts with Peter, and James and Sirius had been huddled in a corner, their heads bent close together, both focused on something. Remus had asked what they were up to; Sirius had just grinned cryptically and said, “You’ll see soon enough.”

Remus knows, can feel it in his gut and see it in his friends’ expressions, that soon enough is now.

The first pink-wrapped parcel is dropped on to a Ravenclaw Fifth Year’s lap. The girl’s friends giggle and whisper exaggeratedly; the girl looks surprised, and then flushed, and then altogether horrified as she opens up the present and gets a face full of pink powder. James and Sirius grin in unison as the girl wails and tries to wipe her face, but whatever the substance is, it’s sticking fast. 

There’s a shriek from the Hufflepuff table, and Remus swivels his head in time to see a box explode in the face of another girl. It’s not just the female population, though. Sirius and James have doled out their prank equally, and soon enough males and females, Hufflepuff’s, Slytherin’s, Ravenclaw’s and even their fellow Gryffindor’s are covered in pink, looking like grotesque human marshmallows. 

“ _Aguamenti_ ,” Alice Thorne says commandingly, causing water to spray on to Frank Longbottom’s newly magenta face, but it does no good.

“What did you use to get it to stick?” Remus asks curiously, as James and Sirius collapse into identical peals of laughter, leaning on each other for support.

Sirius recovers first, sitting up and tapping the side of his nose. “Secret ingredient. Brewed it ourselves.”

“Should wear off in an hour, tops,” James says.

“If you two put half as much effort into Potions -”

“We’d still be top of the class,” Sirius answers, grinning.

“Top of the class?” Lily Evans, sitting next to Frank, who has shrugged off the fact he’s now pink and is carrying on eating bacon with gusto, wrinkles her nose in their direction. “Have I dropped out and not been told?”

James smiles in her direction. “Morning, Evans. Sad you didn’t get a Valentine?”

Lily raises her eyebrows. “Who says I didn’t, Potter?”

Further up the table, Dorcas Meadowes and Mary MacDonald giggle and swap that secretive, all-knowing look girls are so good at that makes Remus feel as if there are things in this world he will never know, and probably will never want to know.

“Oh, yeah? Who from?” James asks promptly.

“As if I’d tell you.”

“That just means you didn’t get one.”

Lily shrugs. “If that’s what you want to believe,” she says.

“If it’s from Snivellus, it doesn’t count,” Sirius says. “Leftovers from the rubbish dump hardly count as gifts, Evans. It’s not what a real man would give.”

“I wouldn’t have thought you’d know anything about that,” Lily replies.

Mary and Dorcas laugh again. Even Remus hides his smile in his goblet. James, however, leans closer to Lily.

“Who is it then?” James asks again, and through the bravado and banter Remus thinks he’s actually wanting an answer. “Your mystery date. I’m just curious to know, Evans.”

“Why, so you can explode powder into his face on the first opportunity?”

James’ laugh is a bit too deep, a bit too brash. “Oh, Evans. As if I care that much.”

“Yeah,” Peter pipes up. “We’d just want to meet him. Shake his hand, maybe get him checked over by St Mungo’s. He’s either extremely brave, or definitely stupid, to take you on.”

Sirius roars with laugher, banging his fist on the table so that his coffee mug wobbles dangerously. After a beat James grins too, patting Peter on the back. Peter, nearly as pink as Frank, looks extremely pleased with himself. Remus just focuses on his toast, and from the corner of his eye sees Lily get up and leave the table, closely followed by Mary and Dorcas, the latter who definitely mutters ‘tossers’ in their direction before leaving.

“Good one, Pete,” Sirius says, wiping his eyes. “Honestly, who does she think she is, sticking her nose in in the first place? ‘Have I dropped out’, she says! Pah. As if we couldn’t out-do her and her precious Snivelly at Potions any day of the week with our eyes closed. It’s just we, you know - we’ve got far more important things on.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Remus murmurs, as another parcel explodes with a pop in the background, shooting pink everywhere.

::

“Do you recognise the handwriting?” Mary asks, leaning closer to look at the Valentine’s Day card Lily is holding underneath the desk.

At the front of the room Professor Binns is lecturing about the troll uprisings in Scandinavia in 1597 and how this paved the way for the goblin rebellions years later. Lily had managed to write the date and the title on her parchment before Binns’ monotonous drone made her zone out entirely, and has since spent the rest of the lesson inspecting her mystery card for clues about who could have sent it.

Sighing, she shakes her head, and Mary says, “Well, that rules out anyone in our year then. You’d recognise it otherwise.”

“Yeah. Maybe.”

“Unless they disguised it,” Dorcas says, looking up from the doodle she’s been scrawling in the corner of her parchment.

“Who would do that?”

“I can think of someone.” Mary glances to the back of the classroom where James Potter is sat, elbow propped up on the desk and his face cupped in his hand, looking like he’s sleeping with his eyes open. “Someone interested enough in Lily’s life, but arrogant enough to want to hide it.”

“Don’t be stupid!” Lily protests, whipping her head back around, looking away from Potter to glare at her friend.

“Well, even if he didn’t send it,” Mary says briskly, “he seems awfully interested in who _did_.”

“He’s just a nosy git, that’s all.”

“Maybe it was Lupin,” Dorcas says thoughtfully.

Lily wrinkles her nose. Remus is sat next to Black, looking just as tired as Potter - if not more so - but diligently taking notes anyway. She looks from him, to the simple ‘be my Valentine?’ written in the card, and shakes her head. 

“I know Remus’ handwriting,” she says. “And it’s not his. No, I don’t think it’s a Gryffindor. Not our year, anyway.”

Mary giggles. “Ooh, the plot thickens.”

::

After History of Magic, Lily senses someone getting closer to her in the crowd of students, and then feels a hand on her shoulder. 

“Lily. Hi.”

Lily turns at the familiar voice, and smiles. “Oh. Hi, Benjy.”

Benjy Fenwick is in the year above. Tall, with dark hair and eyes and a wide smile, Lily had first met him in First Year in the Muggle-Born Society. He’d helped her settle in a lot, had even been one of the students who helped set up the society in the first place. Lily hasn’t been in months, and it’s been a while since she’s seen Benjy, but now he’s smiling at her - expectantly, she thinks, or almost nervously - and then all at once she realises.

“Oh,” she says.

Benjy’s laugh is hesitant. “Yeah. Oh. I guess you got the card then?” Lily nods, not quite sure what to say now that the mystery is staring her right in the face. “Sorry it’s a bit cheesy,” Benjy says quickly. “So, uh, would you like to? Go to Hogsmeade with me at the weekend?”

Out of the corner of her eye Lily sees Dorcas dragging a grinning Mary away further up the hallway. Forcing herself to look back at Benjy, she says, “That would be nice.”

“Brill,” Benjy says enthusiastically. “Is Madam Puddifoot’s okay, or…?”

Behind him, Mary and Dorcas are eagerly nodding, staring at her with wide eyes. Lily bites her lip to hold in a laugh and manages, “Yes, that’s fine.”

“Excuse me,” Sirius Black’s voice calls from somewhere behind her. “Your public display of disgusting is blocking the hallway!”

A few students laugh and Lily feels herself begin to blush, but Benjy just smiles. “See you Saturday, Lily,” he says.

Once he’s gone, Mary and Dorcas both descend on her, demanding details, but before Lily can answer Black barges past them all, dragging a sullen looking Potter by the arm. 

“Idiots!” Mary shouts after them, and then eagerly turns back to Lily. “I can’t believe you’ve got a date with Benjy Fenwick!”

“Is it that big a deal?” Lily mutters, uncomfortably aware that a lot of other students are still staring at her. Personally, she’d have preferred not to have been asked in such a public way, but she supposes Benjy is nice; he’s always been kind to her. “Come on, let’s get to dinner, I’m starving.”

::

The next day, Lily wishes she’d never been asked out by Benjy at all, and the reason for that comes in the shape of a very disgruntled looking Sev.

He asks her to go with him to Hogsmeade - “not as a date, obviously,” he says quickly, probably noticing her conflicted expression - and she sighs, anticipating the reaction that is about to unfold before she’s even spoken.

“I’m really sorry, Sev,” she says, and his eyes narrow immediately. “I’ve already said I’d go with someone else.”

“Who?” he demands, and Lily is forcibly reminded of Potter the other day at breakfast, and she frowns.

“I don’t think it’s your business,” she says, an uncomfortable feeling in her stomach.

“A date, then,” he says, his lip curling in an ill-disguised sneer.

“We could meet up afterwards,” Lily offers, but she knows it’s no good.

Sev is already looking away from her and doesn’t meet her eyes. “Don’t bother. I’m seeing Regulus at The Hog’s Head at 1, anyway.”

“Regulus Black?” Lily asks. She doesn’t know much about the youngest Black, just that he always seems so quiet and reserved, so different from his brother. 

Sev shrugs. “Yeah. We’re friends now,” he says, and Lily smiles, trying to be the bigger person and be pleased for her friend because at least it’s not Mulciber, but she can’t quite shake the uneasy feeling or forget Sirius’ warning about his brother.

::

Hogsmeade weekend comes around, and it begins with James throwing himself dramatically on Remus’ bed. 

“I can’t believe we don’t have dates!” he moans.

Remus carefully moves his Transfiguration notes. “I thought this holiday was all about pranking?”

“Well - well, yeah, but come on! We’re the best male specimens this school has to offer!”

“So modest.”

“I mean it!” James says, sitting up. “I have the Potter charm, you have your air of mystery, Sirius here is the heir to one of the oldest wizarding families in Britain. Peter’s, er - Peter’s kind.”

From his own bed, Sirius snorts. “Is this because of Evans and Fenwick?”

“Of course not!”

“He’s quite a good Seeker, isn’t he?” Remus asks, acutely aware that any mention of Benjy Fenwick’ Quidditch skills will surely drive James even further up the wall.

“Bet he wants to seek her, haha -”

“Sirius, you are depraved.”

“He’s not that good,” James insists. “We trounced Ravenclaw last match.”

“Trounced?” Remus says, smiling deviously. “Or narrowly beat?”

“Are you my friend or not?” James demands, scowling. “We still beat them!”

At that moment, Peter walks in to the dormitory, and Remus will later think the timing could not have been more perfect.

“I have a date,” he tells them all, wonderment and a rare trace of pride in his voice. He’s holding himself differently, Remus thinks, and he smiles genuinely whilst Sirius and James merely stare, goggle-eyed. “I just asked Moira O’Shea, and she said yes!”

James throws himself face-first into Remus’ pillow and lets out a muffled howl. “The word is ending.”

::

As arranged, Lily meets Benjy at Madam Puddifoot’s at midday. Entering the teashop to the sound of the tinkling bell, she spots him in a corner of the shop by the window. He’s dressed in jeans and a jumper, his blue and bronze scarf hanging on the back of his chair. He stands up when he sees her, looking relieved.

“Hello,” he says, and it’s only a little bit awkward when he pulls out her chair for her and waits for her to sit down before returning to his own seat across from her. “You look nice,” he tells her, grinning at her from behind his menu.

“Oh, erm, thanks,” Lily says, although she’s just dressed in a simple pleated skirt and cream blouse. 

“It’s nice to see people in clothes other than robes, I think,” Benjy continues. “My mum works in the fashion industry, you see, for a Muggle magazine. She hates the robes. I did try telling her that they come in colours other than black, and some students wear trousers and shirts underneath them, but she still hates them.”

Lily laughs. “They are a bit of a bother at times, I suppose.”

They order a pot of tea to share, and by the time Madam Puddifoot sets down two china cups in front of them, Lily is starting to relax a bit more. 

“What does your dad do?” she asks.

“He works for a bank,” Benjy says. “Of course he’s absolutely fascinated about wizarding currency. Tries to talk to me about the exchange rate every time I go home.”

“Your parents sound really supportive,” Lily says, stirring sugar into her tea.

“Oh, they are,” he says, nodding. “What about your family? I remember in first year you said your sister didn’t take it very well.”

Lily is partly surprised Benjy remembers about Petunia at all. “Still the same as ever. Things can be okay between us as long as we don’t mention the fact I’m a witch.”

“Yeah, I have an uncle like that,” Benjy says, something in his voice changing. “Whenever he comes around we can’t mention it. It’s rough. We get crap from family for being magical, and crap from the wizarding community for coming from a Muggle family. It’s like, a lose-lose situation, isn’t it?”

Lily stares down at the frilly tablecloth. “Well, I guess -”

“Sorry,” Benjy says suddenly, and when she glances back up the easy smile is there again. “My friends say I get a bit intense sometimes. Muggle-born rights and all that. It just makes my blood boil, you know? Guess that’s why I started the Muggle-born society, but I’ll stop talking now. Promise.”

“It’s good that you care so much,” Lily says honestly.

Benjy grins. “So, does that mean you’ll start coming back to the club? Haven’t seen you there for ages.”

Lily feels momentarily guilty, but then Benjy’s smile is encouraging, not accusing. She nods. “Yeah, I’ll come.”

“Tuesday evenings,” Benjy says. “Muggle Studies classroom.”

Lily picks up her teacup, smiling. “Tuesday evenings it is.”

::

The Hog’s Head is practically empty when Severus arrives, shrugging off his cloak and hanging it over his arm. It’s easy to spot Regulus, sat in a shadowy booth with Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. Regulus hails him over, and Severus shakes his hand, and then Lucius’, and nods politely to Narcissa, trying not to show his nerves. 

He remembers Lucius as intimidating, not someone to cross. On Severus’ first night at Hogwarts, he’d been having a perfectly good conversation with Lucius about N.E.W.T level Potions, until he let it slip that his father was a Muggle, and then Lucius had become cold and detached, ignoring him whenever Severus tried to engage him in conversation. Narcissa had always been kinder, and Severus knows that she is Regulus’ favourite cousin. Severus takes the seat next to her.

“Good to see you again, Snape,” Lucius says, and Severus suspects that Lucius has either been instructed by his wife to be on his best behaviour, or that he doesn’t remember Severus at all. “How have you been keeping?”

“Well, thank you,” Severus replies. 

“You’re in Third now, aren’t you?” Lucius asks, his grey eyes travelling over Severus’ threadbare robes. Severus fights the impulse to put his cloak back on. 

“Y-yes.”

“It only gets worse from here on,” Lucius says.

Hesitantly, Severus smiles. Lucius does not.

“Oh, don’t be rotten, Lu,” Narcissa says, and Regulus grins at Severus at the mention of the nickname. “I’m sure Severus is perfectly capable.” She turns her piercing blue eyes on Severus. “Reggie tells me you’re very good at Potions.”

“Well, yes,” Severus says, thinking there’s no point in being modest when he’s sat with the Black’s and Malfoy’s. 

“Can we not talk about school?” Regulus asks in a bored voice. “I’ve just managed to get away from the place, let’s not harp on about it.”

“How did you manage to come to the village?” Severus asks curiously.

Regulus shrugs. “Aunt Lycoris died.”

“Oh.” Severus blinks. “I - I’m terribly sorry.”

Regulus laughs. “Oh, don’t be. She died in 1965. She was never a particularly remarkable woman; probably the reason why Slughorn didn’t think twice or think it odd before giving me special permission to attend the wake today.”

“What if he finds out that you lied?”

Regulus looks completely nonplussed by this possibility. “I suspect I’ll get in a bit of trouble.”

“Do you want a drink, Severus?” Narcissa asks. Severus shakes his head, trying to think of something to say to distract them all from the fact his wallet is embarrassingly empty. Before he can, however, Narcissa says, “Lucius, get Severus a drink for Merlin’s sake!”

Lucius disappears to the bar. Once he’s gone, Narcissa continues. “Sorry about him. He’s in something of a grump today. There’s a - well, a meeting of sorts he’s been invited to today, and he’s in a bit of a sulk that he’s missing out, but I told him, I haven’t seen my cousin properly in an age, and family is more important than silly meetings, is it not?”

Severus has never had any similar sentiments about his own family, but he nods anyway. 

“What sort of meeting?” Regulus asks.

“Oh, nothing, darling. Forget it.”

“Like the ones Bella talks about?” Regulus presses.

Narcissa’s cheeks go slightly pinched. “Bella has told you about them, has she?”

“Well, not exactly. Just overheard her and Rodolphus talking at Christmas.”

“It’s nothing for you to concern yourself with,” Narcissa says, with a note of finality, as Lucius returns with a bottle of butterbeer for Severus. Regulus looks like he’s about to open his mouth and say more about these meetings, and Narcissa says, “So, Severus, you’re in the same year as my cousin Sirius, are you not?”

“Oh. Yes, I am,” Severus says stiffly.

“Not friends, then?” Lucius asks, smirking.

Severus shifts awkwardly. “Not as such.”

“I told you he’s awful now,” Regulus mutters. “Told you it’s not just me who thinks so.”

Lucius sniffs. “Shame. He had such promise.” Narcissa looks unhappy, and Lucius slides an arm around her shoulder. “Well, he might still come around,” he says bracingly, but Severus is not sure he entirely means it. “Even the best families have their rough parts,” Lucius continues, inclining his head towards Severus. “I mean, your mother is Eileen Prince, correct?”

Severus nods cautiously, taking a sip of butterbeer.

“My point exactly. A respectable enough woman, who made a wrong choice - no offense, of course, Snape.”

“My father is wrong all right,” Severus mutters, and Lucius laughs.

“I bet it’s frightful, having to return to that place every summer. Having to live like a Muggle.”

Severus thinks of Lily, of sitting together in the old rec and taking walks by the river. “It - it can be okay, at times.”

“Oh, no need to defend it here!” Lucius cries. “Not among us.”

“Lucius,” Narcissa murmurs.

“What?” Lucius says, blinking at his wife. “I’m sure Severus doesn’t need to be convinced, darling. Being forced to live where he does, with what his father is -”

“Lucius,” Narcissa says, louder. “Not here, for goodness sake.”

Lucius looks put out, but quietens, allowing his wife to talk about their upcoming holiday to Lithuania, about the simply hideous dress robes she received from her friend at Christmas and had to pretend to like, about how she thinks the house elf has lost her favourite diamond necklace. Severus lets himself be immersed in this world, the world of servants and expensive holidays and jewels; Regulus may look bored as anything, but Severus drinks it all in. 

Narcissa is halfway through a story of when Regulus was younger and had gotten locked in the attic with a haunted cabinet - Regulus insisting that it was in no way funny, that Bellatrix is awful for leaving him there, and Severus laughing so hard he gets butterbeer foam up his nose - when Lucius suddenly sits up, his hand clamped around his left arm.

The mirth from Narcissa’s face disappears instantly. She looks at her husband, frowning, and he gazes back at her silently. It’s like they’re having a conversation without words, Severus thinks, and it must be one that Narcissa disagrees with, because she purses her lips and stands up abruptly.

“Ever so sorry, boys,” she says in a strange clipped voice. “We have to be going now.”

“Afraid Narcissa isn’t feeling well,” Lucius says, getting up as well and swirling his cloak around his shoulders, fastening it with an expensive looking clasp.

“You were fine a moment ago,” Regulus says. “Must you go?”

Narcissa sighs, kissing him on both cheeks. “I am sorry, darling,” she says, and she sounds as if she means it. “I’ll see you at Easter.”

“Snape,” Lucius says, shaking Severus’ hand. “I have a feeling this isn’t the last we’ll see of each other.”

“I hope not,” Severus says boldly, not wanting to lose this connection to the sparkling elite anytime soon.

The Malfoy’s disappear with a crack, disapparating hand-in-hand. 

Regulus downs the rest of his butterbeer in one go, looking miserable.

“Your cousin is very nice,” Severus says.

He nods. “Yeah. She’s the best of the lot. Bellatrix was always a bit scary, and never much wanted anything to do with me. I hardly see her now. She’s always busy. And as for Andromeda - well. You know that story.”

Severus nods, wondering not for the first time how anyone could want to lose their status in a family such as the Black’s. He looks at his robes, more grey than black, and his cloak - last years, and starting to be a bit tight at the shoulders. He tries not to compare himself with Regulus, with his tailored robes and fur-lined cloak, but it’s hard. 

“We best get back to school,” Regulus says heavily. “I don’t want Slughorn on my back.”

As they’re walking back through the village, Regulus points suddenly to a shop that Severus has never noticed before. “Isn’t that your friend?” Regulus asks.

Severus doesn’t think any of his friends would be seen dead in somewhere so tacky, but as he looks closer he sees Regulus is right. Lily is sat at a table next to the window, opposite a boy Severus recognises from somewhere he can't quite place. Lily is laughing at something the boy is saying, tucking a stand of red hair behind her ear.

“Oh. Yeah, I know her,” Severus mutters. Regulus raises his eyebrows at his tone - everyone knows he’s friends with Lily Evans, after all. It had been the reason he was bullied so much in his first year, more so than his shabby clothes or Muggle father even - but thankfully he doesn’t say any more about her.

Instead, Regulus says, “That’s Benjy Fenwick. Ravenclaw Seeker.”

“Didn’t have you pegged as a Quidditch fan,” Severus comments, hoping to draw the conversation away from Lily.

“You’d be surprised, then,” Regulus says. “I’m going to ask Mother if I can try-out for the team next year. She’s not overly fond of the idea of Quidditch but I’m sure I’ll be able to talk her round.” To Severus’ dismay, Regulus glances over his shoulder, back to the teashop. “Fenwick’s a Mudblood, too. I wonder if he’s her boyfriend.”

“She doesn’t have a boyfriend,” Severus says at once.

Regulus smirks. “Well, that you know about. Evidence seems to the contrary, after all.” He must not notice the scowl on Severus’ face, as he keeps looking at the pair in the shop window. Severus, meanwhile, is determinedly looking anywhere but at Lily and Fenwick. “Look at them both, in those ridiculous clothes. I mean, here they are, in the only completely wizarding village in Britain, and they’re dressed like that. Do you own an outfit like that?”

“Er, sort of,” Severus admits. “I prefer robes by far.”

Regulus nods, looking satisfied. “Good. At least you’re dressed sensibly.”

For the first time, Severus feels more comfortable in his second-hand robes and too-small cloak. He smiles, and then suddenly realises where he knows Fenwick from. “He runs a school club for Muggle-borns, if I recall.” 

He doesn’t mention the fact that Lily took him along to it a couple of times, until he’d told her he came to Hogwarts to learn about magic, not to keep up to date on all the boring Muggle world news (”I have a telly at home for that,” he’d said, and Lily had looked at him like he was missing the point entirely).

Regulus crows with laughter. “Dear Merlin, does he? I didn’t even think such a thing existed. Shall we go ask for a membership?”

For a horrible moment Severus thinks Regulus really intends to go and speak to Lily and Fenwick. Quickly, he says, “Best not to. I mean, you’re supposed to be at a wake, remember?”

Regulus stares at him for a moment, and then nods. “Good thinking. Of course they’d tell on me to McGonagall or someone.”

Still chuckling at the idea of a school society for Muggle-borns, Regulus leads the way back to school. Severus spares one last look at the teashop. A cherub is hovering over the table, chucking confetti on to Lily’s head, and Fenwick leans over to brush it off - Severus looks away, jaw clenched, and follows Regulus back up to the castle.


	26. studying, sickness and sleepovers.

_Late March 1974._

Sirius, feeling a headache forming and at once identifying the source, slams the book he’d been attempting to get through closed. A plume of dust shoots out from the ancient covers and gets him full in the face. Beside him, Peter sneezes. James doesn’t even look up from his own book, a nasty looking monstrosity titled _Most Advanced Transfiguration_. Its many pages are yellowing, crumbling, dust-coated horrors; it’s the kind of book Sirius thinks Moony would read for fun, or that would be in the library at Grimmauld Place, and here they are, nearing the Easter holidays and on a fine sunny day, in the library, reading such a book for their own satisfaction. Except, Sirius doesn’t feel very satisfied. He feels impatient.

“James, I don’t think I can look at another book. My eyes have gone all wrong.”

“You haven’t even tried,” James says calmly. 

“I have!” Sirius protests, gesturing at _History of the Animagus_ , which lies on the table in front of him. “It’s just, you know.” He trails off, craning his neck to look hopefully out of the nearest window. “It’s such a nice day, and I’ve only got a few more days before I have to go back to London. We’ve been reading forever, and it doesn’t seem to be getting us anywhere.”

James sighs. “Mate, it’s not going to happen in a few months. This is seriously advanced stuff.” He lowers his voice, glancing around for any sign of Madam Pince. “It’s going to take time. We knew that when we started. And look, we’re getting somewhere.” James nods towards the stack of notes Peter has been keeping. “We need to read up on all the theory and everything before we start, I dunno, trying to turn into lions or whatever.”

“What d’you think you’ll be?” Peter asks, not for the first time, a dreamy expression appearing on his face.

“No idea,” James says with a shrug. “McGonagall said it’s an expression of your innermost self, so…not a clue. I don’t know what my innermost self is.”

Sirius grins. “A lion sounds about right. You’re such a Gryffindor.”

“A lion would be needed, I reckon,” James says grimly. “Considering we’ve got to keep Moony under control.”

“Imagine if one of us is a butterfly,” Peter says, chewing on a fingernail. “That couldn’t happen - could it?”

“If that’s how you feel on the inside, Petey, that’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Sirius says with a bark of laughter. “You can float around and Remus can chase you all night.”

“Would be amazing if one of us could fly,” James says, going all misty-eyed behind his glasses, the expression he usually adopts when talking about flying. 

Sirius taps the front cover of _History of the Animagus_. “There’s a bloke in here who could turn into an eagle.”

“Thought you said reading was boring?” 

“Yeah, well - some of the accounts are pretty cool. I’d still rather be outside. Plus, I hate leaving Remus when he’s not feeling well.”

“Has to be done,” James says briskly. “Otherwise he’d want to come with us, wouldn’t he? I don’t like lying to him either, but near the full moon is probably the only time we can sneak off without him wondering where we are.”

“We could always tell him,” Peter suggests. 

“No,” James and Sirius snap in unison, and Peter winces. James, gentler, says, “He’d freak out, Pete. You know how he is; he’d hate to think what we were risking, for him. It’s better this way.”

Peter nods glumly, and makes another note on the parchment in front of him. James turns back to his book, and Sirius, knowing he is outnumbered, reluctantly tugs History of the Animagus back towards him, opening it on a random page. 

The text is handwritten, and he has to squint to read most of it properly. From what he can gather, it’s about a witch in the 16th century who evaded being burnt at the stake by hiding as her Animagus form. She had to live the rest of her life in the woods near her home, as a badger. Sirius grimaces. Turning into an animal for one night a month to keep your mate safe is one thing, but he doesn’t fancy the idea of having to live as an animal indefinitely. There are other accounts, of transformations going wrong, and wizards and witches not being able to turn back to a human, or else being left with tails or claws. One poor wizard turned into a newt and was killed by his own wife for potion ingredients.

There’s so much at stake, so much to lose. Expulsion and a hefty sentence in Azkaban if they’re caught. Sirius glances up at Peter, frowning heavily and mouthing the words he’s reading, and James, eyes narrowed in concentration, one hand idly ruffling the back of his hair, the other curled around a book. He thinks of Remus, up in their room puking into a bowl the last Sirius saw, thinking they’re off at Quidditch practice or extra Charms tutoring. He thinks of his angry expression when he finds out what they’ve been doing, and then imagines his smile when he finds out why. 

Some things are worth the risk.

::

Remus pulls his knees up to his chest, exhaling a shaky breath. His stomach makes a loud gurgling noise and he leans forward, closer to the bowl by the side of his bed, but thankfully he’s not sick again. He sits back gingerly against his pillows, trying to quell the nauseated feeling, and closes his eyes. The moon is two days away, and because the universe apparently hates him, of course it falls on the day he’s supposed to be going back home for the Easter holidays. Dumbledore insisted he stay at Hogwarts for it, and catch the train home a day later, and surprisingly his parents agreed. 

It’s not fair, the childish part of Remus thinks. Not fair that he has to miss riding the train with his friends, and instead has to take it by himself when he’ll probably be in a bad state from the night before. His mother will fuss, his father will go very white and very quiet, but no one will say anything in case Remus gets upset. 

His stomach clenches painfully again. _Hospital Wing,_ Remus decides. _Madam Pomfrey. Anti-Sickness Potion, for the love of Merlin._ He glances at his friends’ beds, and wonders what’s taking them so long. Peter has Charms tutoring, and James and Sirius went for Quidditch practice hours ago, but surely that must be over now. _They’re probably out in the sunshine,_ a voice whispers in his ear. _Without you hindering them, slowing them down._

Remus grits his teeth, pushing that particular thought roughly aside, and starts what surely must be the longest ever excursion from the dormitory to the Gryffindor common room. It takes an age to get down the stairs, and when he’s at the bottom, he finds a very concerned looking Lily Evans sitting on the sofa, facing him, a newspaper held limply in her hands.

“Remus,” she says, her voice a million miles away. “Are you okay? You don’t look well.”

_And you sound like you’re talking from under the lake,_ Remus says, or thinks he does. _How funny._

When he wakes up, he’s on the sofa, and Lily is leaning over him, her hair tickling his nose. There’s a few other upside-down face looming down at him as well, and slowly Remus recognises Marlene McKinnon and Alice Thorne.

“Oh, Remus, thank God you’re all right!” Lily says.

“Um,” he says, piecing together what must have happened and feeling himself flush all over. “Sorry.”

“Well, he must be feeling himself again,” Marlene says, shaking her head. “Trust Lupin to wake up after fainting and apologise for the inconvenience.” 

He tries to sit up, but Marlene places a surprisingly strong hand on his chest and pushes him back down. 

“Don’t move,” Alice says in a much more comforting voice. “Frank’s gone to Madam Pomfrey.”

“No,” Remus says, struggling upright. “Really, I’m fine. Just - haven’t had much to eat, that’s all. Been a bit sick. I’m fine.”

Four pairs of eyes stare at him, none of them convinced. Girls are terrifying, Remus realises. He’s relieved when the portrait swings open and Frank clambers through the hole, carrying what looks like most of Madam Pomfrey’s potion supplies. He approaches them at a jog, his face splitting into a grin when he sees Remus sat up.

“Good to see you awake. Gave us all a fright. Now, Pomfrey said to give you this, this, and whatever the hell this nasty looking potion is. She said she’d like to see you, but also that you’d probably refuse and would prefer to just do it yourself.”

Remus manages a smile. “She knows me so well.”

He uncorks the vial Anti-Sickness Potion and downs it in one, quickly followed the potion for headaches and the violet-coloured liquid meant for keeping his blood pressure under control near the full moon. 

“Mate,” Frank says, awe in his voice. “You take a _lot_ of medicine.”

“Used to it,” Remus says uncomfortably. 

“Oh, nearly forgot,” Frank continues, rooting around in his pockets and digging out a slab of chocolate. “She also sent this.”

Two chunks of chocolate later, and Remus really is feeling better. Lily, looking a bit shaken, points out he has colour back in his cheeks, and mercifully his stomach has stopped trying to turn itself inside out. Frank and Alice, after going into Prefect mode and double and triple checking that he’s okay and wouldn’t like to go to the Hospital Wing, retire to the corner of the room to play chess. Marlene heads up to the girls’ Fifth Year dormitory, but not before fixing him with a stern look and ordering him not to die.

“You don’t need to stay with me,” Remus tells Lily, who has sat herself next to him on the sofa. “Really, I’m okay now. Must just have a touch of the flu, or something.” 

Lily shrugs. “I’m just after your chocolate.”

Remus grins and breaks her off a piece. They sit for a while in companionable silence; Lily picks up her newspaper again, and Remus, curiosity getting the better of him, glances over and realises the photographs aren’t moving.

“Why are you reading a Muggle newspaper?” he asks. Lily looks at him, eyebrows raised, and he says, quickly, “Sorry, that was stupid. Obviously you want to keep up to date. Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Lily says. “It’s the local one from Cokeworth, although I get _The Times_ delivered as well for a more broad coverage of what’s going on, and the Muggle-Born Society keeps a lot of other ones archived for people to look through.”

“Muggle-Born Society?” 

“Yeah,” Lily says with a grin. “I started going again. Well, Benjy made me promise to, but it’s actually really good. I think it helps a lot of the younger students, you know the ones that had no idea they were magical until they got their letter. Helps quite a bit with homesickness as well.”

Remus pops another piece of chocolate into his mouth, and then holds the bar out to Lily. “That sounds great. I had no idea we had one.”

“Well, it’s sort of a quiet thing. We don’t really want to attract any unwanted attention.”

“I might have to borrow _The Times_ from you at breakfast. See what’s going on.”

“ _The Daily Prophet_ has stopped reporting on the Muggle disappearances, have you noticed?” Lily asks suddenly. Remus has to admit that he hasn’t; it’s not really something he’s been following. “They ran that article about six months ago about it possibly being linked to a group of wizards targeting Muggles for fun, and then nothing since. I had to read the Muggle paper to find out what happened to that young family from Shropshire.”

“What did happen?” Remus asks tentatively.

Lily’s voice never wavers. “They died.”

“Died?”

“They were killed. Of course the Muggles don’t know it was murder - the article said natural causes - but can you name anything natural that can kill two perfectly healthy twenty-somethings and their two-year-old?” Lily’s eyes bore into him, unflinching. 

Remus swallows, his tongue unusually heavy. “I - that’s awful. I had no idea.”

“You won’t, if you only read _The Prophet_. Benjy says it won’t be long until they come out in the open, whoever they are. And hopefully then the wizarding world will have to acknowledge that something is going on, and do something about it.”

Remus will later think on the fact that Lily’s hands, still holding the paper, never shake; her voice stays matter-of-fact, as if she isn’t describing a group of wizards killing people like her own parents. He’s not stupid; he’s heard James and Sirius talking to each other, whispering in the dormitory late at night, about restlessness and a war building outside the safety of Hogwarts’ walls. He’s seen the prejudice that can happen within the confines of the castle; images of Mary MacDonald being hoisted into the air and Sirius being called a blood-traitor flash through his mind. He knows something is coming, something big, he’s just never heard someone speak so calmly about it before.

Remus doesn’t think he’s ever seen something quite so brave.

Lily folds the newspaper in half and tosses it casually on to a side table. “Nothing bad happening in Cokeworth, so at least that’s something. Well, nothing unusual anyway. I’ve been trying to ask Mum and Dad about things, but it’s hard when I don’t want to scare them. They still think the wizarding world is - well, magical. I don’t really want to burst their bubble, does that make sense?”

Remus thinks of his own mother, her enchantment with the wizarding world shattered when he got bitten. “I understand,” he says. “My parents worry enough about me. I’d hate for them to have even more to stress about.”

“We should make a pact,” Lily says, grinning and stealing another bit of chocolate. “That we’ll never be the worrying sort of parents.”

Remus has never thought about being any sort of parent, ever. His exposure to small children has been limited, and that’s perfectly fine by him. Whenever his parents talk to him about life after graduating Hogwarts, they always talk about him moving back home with them as if they’ve never considered he would have found anyone to live with, and now he thinks on it, neither has he. He’s never factored having a child anywhere in his plans for the future.

Still, Lily is smiling at him and so he decides to indulge her, reaching out to take her already outstretched hand in his own. Lily’s hand is small in his and warm as they shake on it. 

“All right,” he says, breaking the last piece of chocolate in two for them to share. “It’s a deal.”

::

“Moony. Are you asleep?”

Remus, who in fact _had_ been asleep until two seconds ago, grunts incoherently in reply. There’s silence for a fraction of a second, and then the bed dips and Remus feels a warm body clambering around before settling down beside his own. He cracks open one eye to see Sirius next to him, apparently having taken Remus’ sleepy mumbling to mean _why yes Sirius please do come in._

“What are you doing, you berk?” Remus asks, tugging the blankets further over himself. “What time is it?”

“Eleven,” Sirius replies. “You’ve been asleep ages. Frank said you came up to bed without dinner.”

Remus rolls over to face the wall, away from Sirius. Sirius doesn’t take the hint and stays put.

“McKinnon told us what happened earlier. Are you okay?”

Remus sighs. “I’ve had worse.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Not being here,” Sirius says quietly. “If we had, we could have -”

“What, Sirius?” Remus doesn’t mean to, but it comes out like a snap. “What could you have done? I was fine. You’ve probably heard the story from everyone already by the sounds of it.” Sirius stays silent, which Remus takes to mean yes. “Anyway, you had Quidditch practice. You can’t babysit me all the time.”

“Still sorry,” Sirius mumbles. He puts a hand on Remus’ shoulder. “If you’re hungry, I can go down to the kitchens.”

“I had a lot of chocolate.”

“You can’t live on chocolate.”

“Never thought I’d hear you say that,” Remus says, aiming for a joke, but Sirius just huffs and Remus realises this is one of those times where Sirius is, well, serious. 

Slowly, Remus rolls over on to his back, staring up at the shadowy canopy. Sirius shuffles around a bit, readjusting himself until he’s in a matching position, their shoulders touching. 

“Stop fidgeting,” Remus tells him.

“I need to be comfortable.”

“You have your own bed,” Remus points out.

He feels Sirius shrug next to him. “Yours is nicer.”

“It’s exactly the same!”

“It’s nearly midnight, is what it is,” James shouts from behind the curtains of his own four-poster. “Some people are trying to get some shut-eye!”

“Sod off, Potter. You’re just jealous,” Sirius calls back loftily. He lowers his voice, saying to Remus, “He can’t have me every night though. It’s just not on.”

“Of course not,” Remus murmurs. “You have to share yourself out to the masses.”

“Precisely!” Sirius sounds pleased. “Now shove up, your arms are all gangly. Have you had a growth spurt when we weren’t looking?”

Remus ends up far closer to the wall than he’s entirely comfortable with, but Sirius is warm enough, even if his hair does tickle Remus’ nose every time he dares turn his head. For a while the room is full of the sounds of James mumbling from his bed and Peter snuffling softly, and after a bit Sirius’ breathing evens out and slows down. Remus nudges him experimentally in the ribs, and gets no response. Typical. Remus can’t turn left without having his head practically resting on Sirius’ chest, and can’t turn right lest they end up spooning. He’s not sure which would be more embarrassing to wake up to, which would break some sort of hidden boys’ friendship code the most. He’d probably leave drool on Sirius’ pyjama top and everything. 

Briefly, Remus debates clambering over Sirius and sleeping in _his_ bed, but Sirius is like some sort of immovable boulder once asleep; he’s lying on top of the covers, effectively trapping Remus underneath them. 

Remus pokes Sirius again with his index finger. Nothing. Remus sighs, knowing its pointless trying to wake him now, and is thankful that Sirius at least doesn't snore.


	27. the storm breaks.

_Easter Sunday 1974._

Lily’s getting ready for church when she hears the news on the radio about the train crash. Pausing in the middle of brushing her hair, the arm holding the brush dropping limply to her side, she strains to hear the rest of the news report through the wall separating her and Petunia’s room.

“…Death toll estimated to be nearing 35…a signaling failure is believed to be to blame…explosion and fire on collision…Keith Harding is live in Edinburgh with the latest.”

Without being aware that she’s moving her feet, Lily finds herself in the doorway of her sister’s room. Petunia is in her high-collared grey dress, her blonde hair tied back in a severe ponytail. Sat at her vanity table, Petunia catches sight of Lily behind her in the mirror, and her eyes narrow suspiciously.

“What are you hanging around for?”

“Could you turn that up?” Lily asks, pointing at the radio.

Petunia fiddles with the dial, turning it to the music station instead. “Why do you care?” she asks, her gaze sliding away from her sister, busying herself with applying a coat of lipstick far too red for her complexion. “Didn’t think you were bothered about the news unless it came by bird.”

Lily’s mind is too filled with the news report to even think up a retort. She gives Petunia her best contemptuous look before racing downstairs to the living room; rushing in, she nearly collides with her dad, who is stood ramrod straight in the middle of the room, staring at the television where a news reporter is stood outside Edinburgh train station. Her mum is on the sofa, her hand over her heart, shaking her head sadly.

“How dreadful. And look at the state of him - you’d think they would have more compassion than this, sending a reporter who quite clearly has a drinking problem!”

But the more Lily watches the man speak, the more she recognises his slack jaw, slurred speech and unfocused eyes as the signs of someone who has had their memory heavily and most likely repeatedly modified. She makes a small noise in the back of her throat, and jumps when there's a familiar _tap-tap-tap_ at the window.

She already knows what’s coming when she lets the owl in. _The Daily Prophet_ lands on her lap and unfurls, revealing a hastily scribbled note in Benjy’s writing. It reads, simply:

_It’s happening._

::

_EXTREMIST GROUP CAUSES TERROR AND TRAGEDY ON MUGGLE TRANSPORTATION._

_Nearly 40 people have been killed and more than 60 injured in Edinburgh in what Minister for Magic Elspeth Vaynor has described as “a cowardly, inexcusable attack on Muggles”. The attack, which happened yesterday evening, is believed to have been carried out by an organisation calling themselves ‘Death Eaters’._ The Daily Prophet _can reveal that Head Auror Simeon Gloshwick admitted that the Auror Department has had tip offs about such an extremist organisation before, but FAILED TO ACT before now._

_“There wasn’t enough proof before now,” Gloshwick blustered, when daring reporter RITA SKEETER apparated closer to the scene of the crime to get the truth the government has been hiding from the public._

_It is sadly time to ask how many bodies is proof?_

_The Muggle authorities believe a train crash is to blame for the tragedy, although Gloshwick has confirmed that a large percentage of the victims were already dead by the time the high-speed train, on its way to Liverpool, apparently came off the rails and collided with a stationary train at Edinburgh rail station._

_Minister Vaynor has described the perpetrators as “extremely dangerous” and warn that they will probably be operating as part of a larger organisation._ The Daily Prophet _can exclusively reveal images of a SYMBOL SHOT INTO THE SKY shortly after the attack (below), depicting a snake protruding from a skull._

_Minister Vaynor, who has been steadily losing votes in recent popularity polls and strongly supports links with Muggle society, issued this statement: “Aurors will be working around the clock to ensure the safety of society and that of the Muggle population as well. I implore everyone to remain calm and reasonable during this time, and to carry on your business as usual.”_

Remus folds the paper and sets it aside, his tea sitting uncomfortably in his stomach. The familiar sound of bacon sizzling and popping comes from the kitchen, mingling with his mum’s voice, singing along to Celestina Warbeck on the wireless. His dad isn’t in the house, having gone for a morning walk along the canal without saying a word to anyone. Neither of them have mentioned the train crash, the attack on Muggles. Business as usual.

He knows his mum has seen it. First on the small black and white television they own, where she’d sat and watched the whole report and commented on how awful it was and those poor people; and then, when the _Prophet_ arrived, blurring the lines between _those poor people_ and _us_. Hope’s hands had shook as she held the paper, and then she’d busied herself with making enough breakfast to feed the whole village. 

When she calls Remus to the table and sets a large plate in front of him, he notices the redness of her eyes, and wants to tell her it will be okay. She’s a Muggle and his dad fell in love with her and there are people who will never understand that, but it will be okay. She sits across from him, giving him a dazzling, courageous smile, and he can’t find the words. He opens his mouth tentatively, and Hope must guess what it is on his mind, because she starts asking about the upcoming term, his exams, his friends, even Quidditch which Remus knows she hates the very idea of.

A very large part of Remus wants his parents to talk to him about things like this, to accept that he’s not some sort of child that needs shielding from everything; that he hasn’t, in fact, been a child for a very long time now. His wrists are still sore from the shackles on his wrists and ankles from the day before yesterday, the marks clearly visible, but his parents don’t think he can handle talking about people killing other people.

But his mother has that sad, desperate look in her eyes, and so he eats his breakfast and answers her questions. Business as usual.

::

It’s supposed to be a whole family meal, but when Sirius enters the dining room he can’t help but notice guests missing. He stands staring for a while, the collar of his robes feeling tight against his throat, until Grandfather Arcuturus barks at him to take a seat. Sirius takes his place to the right of Father, and meets Regulus’ eye briefly across the center piece, before his brother drops his gaze hastily back down to his plate.

The conversation revolves around the food, the upcoming Avery ball and Aunt Lucretia’s plans to take a tour of Italy this summer. Lucretia, in her usual manner, turns an appraising eye on Narcissa, and says she supposes Narcissa is very welcome to join her if she still hasn’t gotten herself with child by then and managed to keep it. Narcissa’s lips purse and even Sirius has to admire his cousin’s composure as she nods and actually thanks Lucretia for the offer. 

Regulus, breaking the silence that follows, surprises everyone by asking to try-out for Seeker next year, and even more surprising Mother agrees to it, and then everyone talks about Quidditch for a while. Sirius sits, clenching his fist around his knife and thinking of all the times his parents refused to acknowledge him whenever he tried to tell them about games he’s played. The memory of losing to Slytherin in their second match still smarts, and Sirius thinks that at least now he can aim bludgers at Regulus with an extremely valid reason. It helps, a bit.

No one mentions the news, the front page with the picture of the skull and snakes and fire. Really, no one needs to. The silence and the three empty chairs tell Sirius all he needs to know.


	28. prewetts and puffskeins.

_April-May 1974._

On the train back to school, the four boys find each other like magnets being drawn back together. It’s a different sort of reunion this time, Peter thinks. Even though they’ve only been seperated for a week, Sirius embraces each of them for just a bit too long, a bit too hard, as though scared they’ll slip away. 

When they find an empty compartment and take their seats, no one asks anyone else about how their holiday had been. It’s already clear on Sirius’ brooding expression, the way James laughs a bit too often and too forced, trying to make things all right, and the worried looks Remus keeps shooting at Sirius. Peter’s Easter had been spent with his dad, and Sharon had nearly driven him up the wall. They’d all seen the Muggle version of the news, and James had sent him an owl detailing what had really happened; he’d tried to talk about it with his dad over dinner, but Maureen had said, in surprisingly clipped tones, that she didn’t want to hear about that sort of thing in her house. Back at his mother’s, things were no better. Philomena was a bag of nerves, jumping at the slightest noise, and had clung to him very tightly on the platform before he boarded the train.

At Hogwarts, its evident things have changed. Filch and Hagrid meet them all from the platform, sign each student in on a piece of parchment, and any shoulder bags or rucksacks they’re carrying get searched. At the feast Peter sees Alice, Frank and the other Gryffindor Prefects sat amongst the white-faced younger years as Dumbledore delivers a sombre speech about what had happened at Easter. Head Girl Emmeline Vance is nodding vigorously to everything Dumbledore says, about safety and the importance of sticking together through this difficult time. For the first time he can remember, Peter has no appetite for pudding.

“They’ll find them, won’t they?” Peter asks after clambering into bed that night, speaking openly about the Death Eaters for the first time. “They’ll find them and throw them all in Azkaban, right?”

“Sure, Peter,” Sirius says with a humourless laugh. “Because it’s that easy.”

::

Their first Defence Against the Dark Arts class, it becomes clear just how much things have changed. Peter takes his seat next to James, a table behind Sirius and Remus, and when he glances up at the front of the classroom, he has to blink a few times to make sure he’s not seeing double.

Professor Mayhew is an elderly wizard with long grey hair and stooped back; at the theoretical side of Defence, Mayhew is pretty good, but Peter’s hand does have a tendency to cramp from all the note-taking they have to do in his class. Looking at the sight in front of him though, Peter guesses he won’t be needing his quill today.

“Morning, students,” a tall, red-haired man is saying to them all, a broad grin on his face. “My name is Fabian Prewett, and this -” he indicates the man next to him, who is so identical they could be mirror images, “- is my brother, Gideon.” 

“We’re here on the request of Professor Dumbledore,” Gideon tells them. “We’re here to help you in the practical element of defensive spells, and Professor Mayhew here has kindly let us use his lesson time.”

Mayhew, sat in his chair behind his desk, nods. His eyelids are drooping; he looks set to fall asleep any minute, but the Prewetts are the very definition of alert. Their eyes meet and they nod at each other, drawing their wands at the same time. There’s a shuffle of movement from the watching students as everyone sits up a bit straighter in their chairs.

“Now, who here can tell me what they’d do if I were to suddenly attempt to hit you with a nasty curse?” Gideon asks.

Dorcas Meadowes’ hand rises into the air. When Gideon nods at her, she says, “Disarm you?”

“Are you asking me, or telling me?” Gideon asks, tilting his head to one side.

“Er - telling you. I’d disarm you.”

“Good,” Fabian says approvingly. “Disarming is very useful indeed, but sometimes it’s necessary to attack back, and not just defend. Any other ideas?”

“Stupefy,” Remus suggests.

Fabian smiles kindly. “Spot on. Stunning’s always a good one. Care to try?”

“Pardon?”

“I’m about to hit you with a curse,” Fabian says, his smile suddenly gone. “You don’t have a lot of time to react, and you’d be out of it because one, you paused to ask questions and two, you don’t even have your wand out. You, my friend, would probably be dead.”

“You need quick reflexes,” Gideon carries on, as students dive into their bags or rummage in pockets to retrieve their wands. “If someone is looking to attack you, they aren’t going to wait around until you’re ready.”

James’ hand shoots into the air. “Are you Aurors?” he asks.

“No, not Aurors,” answers Gideon - is it Gideon? Peter can’t tell anymore, because the Prewetts have moved, swapped sides. “Now, I want everyone to leave their seats, and come stand at the front.”

There’s a clamour as everyone is quick to do as their told, and with an identical flick of their wands the twins move every desk and chair to the side of the room, leaving a big open clearing in the middle. They seem so in tune with each other, neither one having to even glance at the other before they know what to do. James is staring in awe, his mouth actually hanging open, and Sirius has a peculiar expression on his face as he frowns at Gideon and Fabian as if trying to work something out.

The Prewetts instruct them all to curse them, and the students step forward one by one, tentatively, slowly, and try to get a shot in. Gideon and Fabian take turns being the target while the other one lounges on the teacher’s desk, shouting encouragement. Most students attempt to Stun them, and each spell is thrown away with a simple _protego_. Mary MacDonald surprises everyone by attempting a Jelly-Legs Jinx which Gideon deflects into the leg of Mayhew’s chair, but the Professor sleeps on.

Sirius steps forward, his sleeves rolled up, and faces the twin with the earring in. Peter is pretty sure it’s Fabian. Sirius’ eyes never leave Fabian, but when he casts his spell - a Bat-Bogey Hex at that - it’s Gideon he’s aiming for. Gideon has a split second to react, leaping to one side over the desk to avoid it. Sirius doesn’t pause, turning in one graceful movement to turn his wand on Fabian, and easily disarms him in the confusion.

In the hushed silence that follows, Peter thinks that this must be it, that Sirius is going to be in big trouble, but the twins just grin. 

“Well done,” Gideon says, dusting himself down. “You listened. You pulled a dirty trick, but Death Eaters aren’t concerned with being fair, and will hex you just as easily when your back is turned. I think that deserves ten points to Gryffindor, don’t you, Professor Mayhew?”

Mayhew’s head jerks upwards, his eyelids flutter open briefly. “What? Oh, yes, yes. Take ten points, Mr Black.”

At the word ‘Black’ Gideon’s expression falters for a second so brief that Peter is sure he must have imagined it. Sirius gives Fabian back his wand, and then the Prewetts are busy, dividing everyone up into pairs, instructing them to practice hexing each other, mainly Stunning. When the bell goes, every single student is talking excitedly about the lesson. The buzz surrounding the appearance of the Prewetts carries on even after afternoon lessons and after supper, and it seems to be the main topic of conversation in the Gryffindor common room that evening.

“I wonder if they’ll be taking over from old Mayhew next year,” James says, taking their customary seats near to the fire. “I mean, he is retiring at the end of this year; he said so in September he’s only here for a year.”

“That would be so cool,” Peter says, glad for the distraction from the alarming amount of homework he has. Exams aren’t too far away, and none of the teachers have gone particularly easy on them.

“They don’t like me,” Sirius says grumpily, lying on the sofa, his legs over Remus’ lap. Remus seems to have accepted this position well enough, and is engrossed is going over his Arithmancy essay as though he doesn’t have the distraction of Sirius’ knees digging into him.

James shakes his head, poking Sirius’ foot with the tip of his quill. “Don’t be daft, Mr Ten-Points-To-Gryffindor.”

“That was before they found out my name.”

“You’re imagining things,” James says easily. “I like them. They seem to really know their stuff. They said they weren’t Aurors though - maybe they’re training to be.”

Frank laughs from a nearby chair, his eyebrows raised behind the book he’s reading.

“What’s so funny?” James asks.

Frank sets his book down, smiling. “The thought of Gideon and Fabian Prewett being Aurors, that’s what,” Frank says. “That’s far too regimented for them.”

Peter and James swap looks. 

“You know them?” Peter asks eagerly.

“Sure I do,” Frank says, shrugging. “They were Sixth Years by the time I started, so they never much bothered with me, but I remember some of the stuff they got up to. They were Gryffindors too. I think they gave McGonagall a few grey hairs in their time.”

James grins. “That is so cool.”

“Doesn’t sound like they’re the type to be teachers, then,” Peter points out, and James wilts a little.

“Probably a good thing,” Remus says, eyeing James warily. “He doesn’t need any more encouragement.”

Sirius huffs. “He’s got me for encouragement, hasn’t he?”

James flutters his eyelashes in his direction. “You’ll always be my favourite bad influence, Sirius.”

“Better be,” Sirius grumbles, still looking put out by the reaction he’d gotten earlier. “Now, can we please talk about something other than the ruddy Prewetts?”

“Quidditch tactics?” James asks brightly. “We’ve got that match against Hufflepuff coming up soon.”

Sirius rolls his eyes. “If we must. Although my tactics never change much. I just aim the bludgers for anything not in red and hope for the best.”

James blows him a kiss. “And you do it so _well_.”

::

It’s been a soggy sort of April, full of drizzles and grey clouds, but at the weekend the springtime sunshine makes an appearance at last. Peter, sat in the Quidditch stands next to Remus, is pleased. They have a clear view of Sirius, James and the rest of the team as they practice. Once they’re all in the air, Peter borrows Remus’ charmed binoculars and peers closer.

“Who’s that girl?” he asks, pointing at a blonde playing Chaser. “Hang on. Where’s Rachel?”

“Her parents were on the train at Edinburgh,” Remus says quietly. “Marlene shares a dorm with her; she told me.”

Peter’s gut twists. It’s one thing hearing about things on the news, and having guest Defence instructors to teach you just in case, but he knows Rachel, and it’s different. He sees her nearly every day, shares a common room with her, cheers her on every Quidditch game. 

Rachel comes back to school a week later. She doesn’t say much, and seems to have a permanent guard of friends around her. Peter had never even known she was Muggle-born, had never even thought to ask because it doesn’t - shouldn’t - matter. Peter finds himself glancing around the common room in the evenings, looking at people like Rachel, Lily, Mary. The Prewett’s voices ring in his ears: _They don’t care who you are, what you mean to someone. If you’re someones brother, wife, child, lover. It doesn’t mater to them._

The next Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson is the first time Peter successfully manages to Stupefy James, and he’s never been happier about it, even if James does grumble the whole time after because Peter was so shocked he forgot to break his fall with a cushioning charm.

::

James has the idea to release the puffskeins into the school.

“I think it would cheer everyone up,” he declares, after a thoroughly miserable week in which Gryffindor are beaten by Hufflepuff at Quidditch, losing their chance of winning the Cup. Morale was down, and playing with a reserve Chaser made things no better. Plus they’d all been worked to the bone by the Prewett’s in Defence, and usually left the lessons with a few aches and bruises or funny side-effects of spells gone wrong. “I mean, everyone likes puffskeins, am I right?”

“It’s irrelevant if you agree or disagree,” Sirius chimes in, before Remus or Peter can object. “We’ve already nicked the lot from Kettleburn’s office.”

“I think they’re for the exam, Sirius,” Remus says.

Sirius silences him with a look. “Well, Kettleburn can just round them all up afterwards, can’t he? The exercise will be good for him.”

“He’s got one leg,” Peter says dubiously.

As far as James and Sirius’ pranks go, this one is fairly tame, and at least has somewhat good intentions behind it. Puffseins aren’t liable to bite anyone or leave scars and questionable burns. Remus must acknowledge this, because he doesn’t argue anymore, and just returns to practicing turning his candle into a bookend.

Sirius and James head out that evening, the Invisibility Cloak safely covering both them and the crate of puffskeins that keeps humming and vibrating at regular intervals. 

“Where do you reckon?” Sirius asks quietly, pausing outside the Great Hall.

James’ face is full of concentration. “Dumbledore’s office,” he says at last. “Or at least, outside of it. I mean, it’s fairly central, right? Then they can just hop or - or whatever it is they do, and find their own way from there.”

Sirius grins, imagining Dumbledore coming out of his office and finding an army of puffskeins in the morning. He’d love it, most likely. Probably adopt one and call it Lemondrop or something. 

“Dumbledore’s office,” he agrees, and the crate hums louder in response. Sirius takes this as a good sign.

They both know their way to the Headmaster’s office so well that they don’t even bother casting _lumos_ as they go. Sirius is thankful for this later, as they round the coridoor to the stone gargoyle entrance, and find it open. James flings an arm out to stop Sirius in his tracks, and Sirius mutters a hasty silencing charm on the crate of puffskeins. The two boys wait by the corner, Sirius expecting Dumbledore to appear any minute, but it’s not the Headmaster who descends the stone steps.

“Absolutely knackered, I am,” Gideon Prewett says, running a hand through his thick red hair and then bringing it down to cover his mouth as he yawns. “Kids are tiring. No wonder Molly is cranky all the time.”

“I think it’s Dumbledore who’s the tiring one. I feel like I haven’t slept in days,” Fabian says.

“You haven’t.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Don’t be getting soft on me,” Gideon says, and then adopts a harsh, deep voice. “ _Constant vigilance!_ ”

“Please do shut up,” Fabian moans. “I hear ‘constant vigilance’ in my head when I sleep. Or at least I would, if I slept…”

Gideon puts his arm around his brother’s neck as they walk. “Come on. One quick sweep around the village, and then I’ve got the cure to what ails you.”

“Firewhiskey?” Fabian says hopefully, and Gideon’s laugh echoes off the walls until it’s all that Sirius can hear, and then the twins are gone.

Sirius lets out a breath. “What were they up to?”

“Visiting Dumbledore,” James says, as if it’s obvious.

“Yeah, but at this time?”

James shrugs, already fiddling with the crate. “The man keeps odd hours. I don’t know, Sirius. Maybe they were getting their teaching schedule or something. It’s not important. Come on, help me with these things. I think they’re losing their patience.”

::

_Dear Dromeda,_

_How are you, Ted and sproglet? Things here are a bit strange, everyone is on high-alert because of the Death Eaters (what a RIDICULOUS name I might add) and we have new Defence teachers although not officially, really I think they’re here for Dumbledore. They’re the Prewetts, you must have gone to school with them, and aren’t we related? Just they seem very familiar and I can't put my finger on why._

_In other news we lost the Quidditch Cup again. Hufflepuff won, Ted will be pleased to know. At least Slytherin didn’t get it (sorry)._

_James and I livened things up a bit with setting free a nest of puffskeins. For days they’d pop up in the most unlikely places, including on McGonagall’s hat in the middle of Transfiguration. She didn’t notice and kept on teaching and I think I bruised a rib from trying not to laugh._

_Exams are nearly here, woe & despair etc. I’ve got Transfiguration under the belt easy, and Care of Magical Creatures will be fine. Feeling pretty confident about DADA and of course Astronomy, and oh who am I kidding, I’m going to ace them all._

_Give Nym(phadora) a great big squeeze from me!!_

_Lots of love,  
Your favourite Gryffindor._

—

_Sirius,_

_By default you are my favourite Gryffindor, really I was not too enamoured with them at school. The Prewetts were a fine example of this. They were the year below me and oh they used to make me mad! They’d always be doing stupid things, Ted and I were forever catching them in the middle of some idiotic stunt. You should tell them about your puffskein escapades, no doubt they’d think you were brilliant._

_Yes we are related. Darling haven’t you learnt yet we are related to everyone? Their father Cyprian is Aunt Lucretia’s brother-in-law but Lucretia was never keen on him. Ignatius was very easily moulded into being a Black but Cyprian always had a bit more backbone, his children are all Prewetts to the core, apart from him his oldest, a girl called Molly or Martha or something. Anyway she married the youngest Weasley, so really that’s all there is to know about that. They’ve got two sons, I think the youngest is Nymphadora’s age._

_Anyway no matter what I think of the Prewetts, Dumbledore probably has them there for a very good cause. The man is mad but he has his reasons for things, so don’t question it. Don’t lose heart, either. I know the recent news has been terrible but really darling it’s been terrible for a long time, it’s just that now it’s being reported on. I don’t know if that makes things better or worse for you, but my advice is just to keep your head down and don’t do anything too brash, you silly brave Gryffindor._

_Ted is reading over my shoulder, how irritating. He is pleased about the Cup and is now insufferable._

_Nymphadora has grown so big, she can now say a few things and she totters about here and there. We keep showing her a picture of you and are encouraging her to say ‘Sirius’; so far it’s not successful, but the other day she did change her hair black, but we’re not sure if that’s a fluke or not. We get out a lot more now. I refuse to be a prisoner in my own home, after all, and it’s important that Nymphadora has a normal upbringing._

_Good luck in your exams, and hopefully we’ll see each other this summer._

_Love,  
Andromeda._


	29. the muggle-born society.

_June 1974._

The summer air wraps itself around Lily like a blanket and for the first time in a long time, she starts to feel relaxed. She closes her eyes as she leans back against the beech tree, feeling the warmth of the sun on her face. Nearby she can hear the sounds of the Giant Squid splashing languorously in the lake, Mary and Dorcas rustling pages of their books, and the laughter of the other students who are taking advantage of the summer weather rather than being cooped up in the library. 

It could be rather easy, she thinks, to forget just for a moment that exams are upon them, that she has a three hour Potions practical tomorrow. To forget that the Daily Prophet reported an attack on Muggles in Doncaster recently, and that the Muggle-Born Society has been full of frightened younger years asking why students have been tripping them up in the hallways or stealing their things. All the Muggle-Born first years look downright cheated, and Lily can hardly blame them. She doubts this is what they had in mind when they received their letter at all.

“Are you falling asleep?” Mary’s voice demands, and Lily feels the tip of a quill prodding her in the leg.

“No,” Lily says, refusing to open her eyes. “Just thinking.”

“Brooding, more like,” Dorcas says with a snort. “Here, come on. You know I’m useless at Potions. Test me.” 

Something heavy lands on Lily’s lap, and she doesn’t need to look to know it’s a Potions textbook. She swats it away on to the grass. 

“I’m enjoying the sunshine. Go away.”

“Charming,” Dorcas remarks. “When I fail and have to take a job working the Knight Bus, I’ll remember this.”

“I’m meeting Sev later on tonight and having a last minute study session if you want to come along.”

Silence greets her offer, and Lily can just imagine her friends swapping incredulous looks. When she does open her eyes, blinking against the sunlight, Mary is staring at the grass and Dorcas looks pained.

“Lily…”

Lily sighs. “Oh, forget it. Honestly, you’d think I’d said I was taking tea with a vampire the way you two go on.”

“No one’s going on,” Mary says quietly. “You know that lot make me uncomfortable, that’s all.”

“There is no that lot,” Lily insists. “Severus is my oldest friend. He’d never hurt me.”

“Not you, no.”

Lily takes a steadying breath, trying not to lose her temper. “Are we really going to have this conversation again?”

“Is there any point?” Dorcas mutters. 

“No,” Lily says, the heat on her face now nothing to do with the sunshine. She stands up, gathering her books into her arms and swinging her bag on to her shoulder. “I’ll see you later. I’m going to go to the library after all.”

The library is as uninviting as Lily had imagined it would be on a summer’s day. The sunlight streaming through the high windows only serves to enhance the dust further, swirling in the air and launching an assault on Lily’s nose as soon as she arrives. It’s deathly quiet and mostly empty, and she earns a few glares from the frantic looking upper years and a hiss from Madam Pince as she storms in, banging the door behind her. Lily ignores them, stalking between the aisles of towering bookcases, heading towards the back where she hopes she can get some peace. 

Sat at a table, one arm curled around his copy of _Magical Drafts and Potions_ , is Remus. Lily stops in her tracks, looking around for his friends, but Remus is apparently alone, and completely oblivious that he’s just been stumbled upon. He’s frowning as his eyes move over the tiny text and diagrams, his lips mouthing whatever it is he’s reading. Lily moves quietly so that she’s stood behind him, peeking over his shoulder.

“Shrinking Solutions,” she reads aloud, and Remus makes a sound like a Niffler being stepped on. He whirls around to face her, nearly toppling off his chair, and she grins as he splutters incoherently at her. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“I find that hard to believe,” he says with a slight grumble to his voice, but he moves his satchel off the chair beside him so that she can sit herself down. “Do you have a habit of creeping up on people in the library?”

“Only the special ones,” Lily says seriously.

Remus’ lips twitch. “Well, thanks for the mini heart attack. It’s almost like having Sirius around.”

“Where are they?” Lily asks, glancing around again as if she expects Black and Potter to suddenly appear from the stacks. With them, you never really knew.

“It’s the day before a very important three-hour examination,” Remus says, eyebrows raised. “They’re playing Quidditch, of course.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” Lily murmurs. “They don’t have to revise like us lesser beings. Being so brilliant at Potions and everything else.” She rolls her eyes, and Remus smiles ruefully. “Where’s Pettigrew then? Is he too good for revision too?”

“Not really,” Remus admits. “But James still managed to talk him into flying instead.”

Lily thinks Peter needs to grow a backbone, personally, but she doesn’t say this. Instead, she asks, “So, how come the Magnificent Potter didn’t manage to convince you to play?”

Remus pulls a face. “Because apparently I’m a glutton for punishment. They’ll track me down later and take the piss mercilessly, that I spent my afternoon inhaling dust in the library.”

Lily knocks her elbow into his. “If they do take the piss, then they’re not very good friends, are they?”

“No, they are,” Remus says with surprising forcefulness. “I think they just worry sometimes. It’s not in their nature, being bookish and dusty and whatnot. I think I just confuse them.” He coughs a little. “Anyway. Why are you in the library by yourself? Where are Mary and Dorcas?”

“Oh, well…we had a bit of a fight. Well, not really a _fight_ \- but they were saying things about Sev -”

“Not nice, is it, when people judge your friendships?” Remus says mildly.

Lily shoots him a sideways look, and sighs. “All right. Point taken.” 

And then, because there’s something about Remus’ quiet nature that makes Lily feel like she can open up to him, or maybe just because she can’t stand the thought of revising Shrinking Solutions anymore, she starts telling him everything that’s been keeping her up at night recently. That sometimes she worries her friends are right about Sev, that he has been a bit distant lately and they haven’t been spending as much time together, that she’s afraid of what he’ll get mixed up in and if he can handle it, if their friendship will survive it. 

Remus, as expected, just listens. He nods intermittently, brow slightly creased, but doesn’t say anything until Lily is finally finished. Her face flushed, she ducks her head down and stares at the desk, well aware she’s just blabbed her whole metaphorical Boggart to someone she really doesn’t even know that well yet.

Remus clears his throat. “Do you remember what Sirius was like in First Year?” 

“As annoying as he is now, but smaller?”

Remus cocks his head to one side, looking thoughtful. “He used to spout all this Pureblood nonsense. Nothing directed at anyone in particular, just little things he’d say here and there. I thought James was going to knock his head off, the first time. He didn’t mean to be cruel, it’s just - how he was brought up. He was raised to believe all that rubbish. Now, you’d never know it. He knows better. What I’m trying to say, I suppose, is that people emanate what they see and what they’re taught. But I don’t think it’s ever too late to change things.”

Lily really, really hopes Remus is right.

::

The Potions exam doesn’t go too badly at all. Slughorn, as expected, tests them on Shrinking Solutions, and Lily catches Remus’ eye over her cauldron and gives him an encouraging wink as they begin chopping their ingredients. Her knife blunts halfway through and Severus, one table over, wordlessly passes her his instead when Slughorn’s back is turned, and she thinks she sees the barest trace of a smile on his lips as she mouths a thank you in his direction.

They have Charms in the afternoon, and Lily is pretty confident she managed the perfect Freezing Charm. Tuesday brings three exams in one day. The Defence Against the Dark Arts exam is split in two sections: the first, an obstacle course style exam, where they have to Stun and Disarm animated moving dummies that has the Prewett twins written all over it, and then a written exam definitely penned by Professor Mayhew. There’s no time to compare answers afterwards as they have Herbology, and after a lunch time in which Lily hardly has any appetite at all it’s time for the Gryffindors to make their way gloomily to their History of Magic exam, which seems to drag on for hours. Lily’s head is pounding afterwards, her mind a jumble of names and dates. She ignores the temptation to crawl into bed, instead looking over her Transfiguration notes for the next day’s exam, until she glances up at the clock and sees it’s nearly seven. 

Stifling a yawn, Lily resolutely makes her way to the Muggle Studies classroom. Really, she’d like to sack the Muggle-Born Society meeting off for tonight, but then she thinks of Benjy, waiting for her, and quickens her step. 

Pushing the door to the classroom open, at first Lily thinks that Benjy’s beaten her to it and arrived first, but then she realises it’s not Benjy sat at a table with his head bent over a book. It’s Black.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, pausing in the doorway.

Black glances up and grins. “Revising, Evans,” he says, tapping his index finger on the page opened in front of him. Despite herself, Lily steps closer, curious, and sees the page is covered in diagrams of Muggle transport, all labelled and captioned. She's noticed it's by far one of his favourite topics in their shared class, but the story still doesn't quite ring true to her. 

She glances about at the empty classroom. “Is Potter lurking about?”

“Why, do you miss him? Better not let your boyfriend hear you say that.”

“I think you said that, Black, not me,” Lily says lightly, and decides she can’t very well just stand there like an idiot. She walks to the front desk and begins unpacking her bag, uncomfortably aware that Black is watching her. “Don’t you have somewhere else you can revise?” she snaps at last. “What about the common room?”

Black snorts. “Not bloody likely. Thorne nearly took Peter’s head off earlier for breathing too loudly.”

“The library, then?” Lily suggests, although she’s expecting Black’s derisive laugh before it even happens. “Look,” she says, trying to remain calm, although Black has now leaned back in his chair, his feet up on the desk, and she longs to push him backwards. “You can’t stay here. We’re about to have a meeting, and -”

“What’s that?” he interrupts, his eyes fixed on the Biro Lily has just taken out of her bag.

“What, this?” Lily asks, nonplussed. “Er - it’s a pen. Haven’t you, uh, covered these in class?”

“That’s wicked,” Black breathes, clattering both feet back down to the floor and leaping out of his seat. He’s leaning over Lily in a matter of seconds, watching the pen interestedly. “Professor Laughton mentioned them, and said we’ll get to write with one next year, but we’ve not actually got to use one yet. I can’t believe you have one!”

“Are you taking the mickey?” Lily asks suspiciously.

“No,” Black says, looking genuinely affronted. “How does it work?”

“Same as a quill,” Lily says, still not entirely sure she’s not being made the butt of some joke, that Potter won’t burst out of the cupboard in a fit of laughter any moment. “Just no ink. Well, there’s ink, but it’s inside, see, so you don’t need to refill it.”

“Does it refill itself?” he asks, bending down to get a better look.

“Um, no. They just…run out, eventually. I mean, you can get pens that you can refill, like fountain pens, but they’re a lot more expensive than just plain old Biros. That’s why you get these in a pack usually.”

“You have more than one?”

Lily tries to repress a laugh; she has a feeling it might be rude. Now she knows what she probably looked like, the first time she saw magic. “Do you want one?” she asks, amused, and Black practically snatches it out of her hand when she digs another out of her bag. “Well, now you have hours of entertainment, why don’t you go?”

“I was here first,” Black says, sitting himself back down at the table, doodling on his hand with the pen. “I think you should go back to the common room.”

Lily looks up at the Muggle clock on the wall. Ten past seven. People will be arriving soon. 

“Look, you can’t stay,” she says bluntly. “It’s a Muggle-Born Society, and you’re, well -”

“Not,” Black finishes for her, looking her dead in the eye. “It’s all right, Evans, Pureblood isn’t a dirty word, you know. You can say it.”

“I just don’t want you making anyone uncomfortable, that’s all.”

“Why would I make people uncomfortable?”

Lily sighs. “You really are being a bit of an entitled idiot, do you know that?”

“Well, I think you’re being a bit of a -”

“Do you want to finish that sentence, Black?” Benjy asks, strolling into the room with a bunch of newspapers wedged under his arm. He stops to give Lily a kiss on the cheek, and then smiles amiably at Black, who rolls his eyes at the ceiling. “Just, you know, young ears and all that,” Benjy continues, as the first few students start to file in. 

They give Black nervous looks, edging around the desk he’s sat at. Lily smiles encouragingly at them, but then frowns when she sees a few missing faces.

“Where’s Guy?” she asks. “And - er - sorry, the blondey one? Hufflepuff?”

There’s a few beats of silence, and then Watkins, a small Ravenclaw First Year, speaks up. “Guy and Jenny don’t want to come anymore.”

Lily swaps a look with Benjy. She’s on the verge of saying something, asking why, when Benjy shakes his head at her, clears his throat. “Well, I’m sorry to hear that,” he says briskly. “Anyway. If you all want to sit down, Black here was just leaving, tonight we’ll be -”

The door to the classroom bursts open, and James Potter all but falls in. Black rises instantaneously, and Lily feels her hands clench at her sides.

“Potter,” she says through gritted teeth. “What do you think you’re -”

“Er, evening folks,” Potter says, his eyes trained steadily on Black. “Right, so - everyone needs to leave.”

“What?” Benjy asks, frowning.

“Oh, yeah,” Potter says, nodding. Black has moved to his side. “We, we set off some dungbombs, so really it would be best if everyone just went back to their common rooms.”

“I don’t smell dungbombs,” Watkins says, sniffing the air.

“Potter, what is going on?” Lily asks, because Potter isn’t looking like his usual I’ve-Just-Pulled-A-Prank smarmy self at all; he’s looking, if anything, nervous. He keeps glancing over his shoulder, and Black is staring out of the doorway like a sniffer dog on the trail of something, and -

The classroom is plunged into darkness, and a few of the younger students scream. Lily can’t see a bloody thing, and she pulls out her wand, about to cast lumos or perhaps hex James Potter into a turnip, but then a blast of light shoots into the room, narrowly missing her face, and someone is yanking on her arm so that she’s pulled into a crouching position. At first she thinks it’s Benjy, but the body close to hers doesn’t smell like Benjy; it smells earthy, sort of damp, like someone who’s been flying in the rain like a complete idiot, and then another jet of light illuminates his glasses, and she wrenches her arm away from him.

“Potter, what in the hell -?”

“Evans, I’m ever so sorry, but shut up,” he says. Then, louder, “Sirius, get the First Years out!”

“Right-o!” Black calls through the darkness. “Kids, if you will, after me!”

The jets of light - curses, Lily realises with a sinking feeling, curses aimed at _them_ \- come thick and fast after that, and Lily finds herself pulled sideways behind Professor Laughton’s desk. She can hear shouting, spells and swearing mingling together, and squints against the onslaught of light to see three or four shadowy figures in the doorway, and that’s where the curses are coming from, and then a figure near them rises up, arm outstretched with a wand clutched in his hand. Benjy, Lily thinks, and tries to move towards him, but Potter has her shoved up against the side of the desk.

“Fenwick, to your left!” Potter shouts, but it’s no use. A jet of red light hits Benjy in the chest, and one of the figures laughs.

“I think that’s ten points to me!” a voice jeers as Benjy staggers into a chair and collapses to the ground.

“Benjy!” Lily cries, shoving Potter away from her and crawling towards her boyfriend. 

“Evans - _Lily_ \- Evans, get back here!” Potter is shouting behind her, but she ignores him. 

She sends a Trip Jinx behind her, and she thinks it reaches her target. Someone definitely falls, and a voice growls, “Mudblood bitch!” 

Good, Lily thinks, scrambling to Benjy. She puts a hand on his chest, where the spell hit, and he’s breathing at least. Then, as suddenly as it all started, the eerie darkness lifts, the lanterns burst back into life, and Lily hears other voices shouting. She looks over her shoulder to see the Prewetts in the doorway to the Muggle Studies classroom, wands drawn, and the sound of running footsteps echoing off the walls of the corridor outside.

One of the Prewett brother’s kneels down beside Lily and Benjy, and up close Lily can see he has a deep scar across his nose, making a harsh trail right through his freckles. “He’s just been Stunned,” he says quietly, and then points his wand at Benjy’s chest. “ _Rennervate!_ ”

Benjy’s eyelids slowly flicker open. He looks confusedly between Lily and the Prewett looming over him. “Er. What the hell happened?”

“Someone Stunned you,” Lily says anxiously. “Are you all right?”

Wincing, Benjy sits up, rubbing the back of his head. “I think so. Who was it?”

Lily shakes her head, but from behind her Potter speaks up. “Avery was one. I recognised his voice.”

“Are you sure?” the other Prewett asks. Fabian, Lily realises, noticing the earring.

“Positive,” says a different voice, and Lily turns to see Black leaning against the wall as if he’d been there the whole time. “I’d know Avery anywhere.”

Gideon pulls Benjy to his feet and guides him into a chair, conjuring a pack of ice for his head. Lily, meanwhile, is staring at Black. 

“Where did you come from?” she asks. “You - you disappeared. Potter told you to get the kids out, and you can’t have gone through the doorway because that’s where they all were. How did you get out?”

Black grins, and taps a wooden panel on the wall with his wand five times. Lily’s mouth falls open as it slides outwards to reveal a passageway, but the Prewetts actually laugh.

“Hey, we never found that one until our Seventh Year!”

“Ah, bet you never took Muggle Studies,” Black says with a wink.

“Good job you found it,” Gideon says. “Did the other students get back all right?”

Black waves a hand. “I made sure they went back to their Houses before I came to get you. Think I managed to convince them it was a prank. No need to tell them otherwise, right? They have enough to be worried about without thinking they’re going to be attacked in school.”

“But that’s exactly what happened!” Lily cries, feeling sick. Her head aches all over again. She takes a seat next to Benjy; he slides an arm around her and she leans into him. “I can’t believe this,” she murmurs. “I mean, how did they even find out where we meet?”

“Well, it is a bit obvious, Evans,” Potter says apologetically.

“Sorry, but - what is?” Fabian asks. “This is where who meets?”

“The Muggle-Born Society,” Benjy says darkly. “We led those nutters right bloody to to us. He’s right,” Benjy says with a sigh, nodding at Potter. “It was too obvious.”

“It’s not your fault,” Potter says. “You weren’t to know.”

Benjy shakes his head, glaring at the floor. “Of course we should have known.”

“Don’t beat yourself up,” Fabian says bracingly. “Look, we’ll tell Dumbledore, get him to investigate this. Strictly speaking, we’re not teachers, so we can’t. He’ll find out who it was.”

“It was the Slytherins!” Black says. “I told you! It was Avery!”

Gideon sighs. “You might have recognised one voice, but can you prove the others were Slytherins?” There’s a moment where Black and Potter glare murderously at the Prewetts, but they don’t say anything, and Lily knows that none of them can prove anything, not really. Gideon claps his hands together loudly. “Right, in my not-really-a-teacher capacity, I’m telling you all to go to bed and get some rest. Don’t you all have exams in the morning?”

It doesn’t make Lily feel better in the slightest. Gideon and Fabian insist on taking Benjy to Madam Pomfrey on their way to Dumbledore’s office, to get his head checked out, despite Benjy insisting he’s fine. Left alone with Black and Potter, Lily doesn’t quite know what to say. She should thank them, she supposes, although there’s something niggling in the back of her mind -

“How did you know?” she asks, stopping abruptly on their way back to Gryffindor Tower. Potter nearly walks into her, and Black stares at her, frowning.

“Know what?” 

“Don’t play dumb,” she snaps. “You knew they’d be there. You knew they’d try something. You were hanging around that classroom for a reason, Sirius Black, and don’t you dare tell me you were revising.”

“Revising, really?” Potter asks, his eyebrows raised so much they’ve disappeared into that mess of a haircut of his. “That was your cover story?”

Black shrugs. “I panicked, all right?”

“How did you know?” Lily demands, taking a step closer to him. 

Black scurries back, hands in the air. “James, help!”

“We just - overheard, that’s all,” Potter says, striding ahead again.

“Overheard?” Lily repeats, jogging a bit to catch up. “What, you just stumbled across a casual conversation about how a group of morons were going to attack the Muggle-Born Society, and they just carried on talking about it while you were in earshot?”

“Er - something like that, yeah.”

“Black, I will hex you!”

“Hex him all you like,” Potter says, his face set determinedly. “Look, I can’t tell you how we found out, but can’t you just be grateful we did? We saved you, Evans.”

“Saved me?” Lily splutters. “As if!”

“I tried to get you out,” Black argues. “I told you you should leave, or I at least thought you’d bugger off if I hung around long enough.”

“That was your rescue tactic? Annoying me into leaving?”

“It normally works,” Black says sulkily. “ _Galanthus Nivalis_ ,” he adds as they reach the Fat Lady.

The portrait swings forward to let them into the common room, which is oddly empty for this time on an evening. It’s been the same way for the last few days, everyone trying to get lots of sleep in preparation for the exams ahead. As if reading her thoughts, Black stretches his arms up to the ceiling and then swings them back down by his sides.

“Well, I’m off to bed after all that excitement. Night, Evans.”

He strolls off casually, Lily glaring at his retreating back.

“Excitement?” she repeats icily.

Beside her, Potter sighs. “Oh, he didn’t mean it like that…”

“He did,” Lily says. “He thinks it’s all a big joke, a game. As if he was ever in any real danger. Or you, for that matter.”

“Now that’s not fair!” Potter says, his voice suddenly squeaky. 

“Well, they weren’t after you, were they?”

“We were trying to help you!” Potter says angrily. “Guess that’s how you show gratitude, is it?”

_Of course he just wants to play the bloody hero._ She moves closer to him, smiling, and he looks down at her uncertainly. 

“Oh, James,” Lily breathes, batting her eyelashes exaggeratedly, and Potter blinks at her. It’s probably the first time she’s used his name, she realises. “Thank you so much for rescuing me,” she says sarcastically, and then storms off to the girl’s dormitory.

::

The rest of the week passes in a bit of a blur. 

Benjy is back to normal the very next day, already up and about by the time Lily visits him in the Hospital Wing after her Divination exam. At dinner on Thursday Lily notices an absentee in the middle of the Slytherin table where they usually all hold court, and later learns from Alice and Frank that Avery has been expelled. It should make her feel better, she knows, but there were at least three others with him that night in the Muggle Studies classroom, and as far as she’s aware no one else has been caught or punished. She’s upset but not really at all surprised when Benjy suggests disbanding the Muggle-Born Society next year. It’s exactly what they want, and it feels an awful lot like giving in, but then she remembers the frightened faces of the eleven-year-olds and what nearly happened to them, and she knows it’s for the best, at least while things are like this.

Their last exam is Care of Magical Creatures, and it’s quite a nice way to round off the exam week as Professor Kettleburn has set them a practical exam spent outside in the sun. They’re tested on bundimun again, and this time thankfully no one gets acid anywhere or suffers any burns, and even Black wears his protective goggles when he’s supposed to. Kettleburn also tests them on identifying different types of water creatures, and they get to spend a nice hour down by the shallows of the lake. Pettigrew ends up falling in, and Remus has to fish him out with his net, and even Lily manages to see the funny side when the end of exams are so close and the sun is warm on her shoulders. 

All in all she’s feeling a lot better about things, and when Dorcas tells her that there’s going to be a party in the common room, Lily says of course she’ll be there. Lily never exactly stopped speaking to Mary and Dorcas, but things have been a bit more strained between them lately. As Potter and his friends return from the kitchens laden with food, and Marlene produces a bottle of Firewhisky from who-knows-where, Lily sits herself down next to her two best friends. 

“About Tuesday -” she begins.

Mary cuts across her. “Have you tried a pork pie? I think the house-elves have put some spices into them this time. They’re lovely.”

“I’m trying to apologise to you, not talk about pork pies,” Lily says.

Mary grins crookedly. “Yeah, I realised that. I hate apologies. We’re mates, yeah, and _I’m_ sorry if I can’t sometimes understand why you hang around with some people. But it’s your choice. So - pie?”

Dorcas wipes away a pretend tear. “My babies,” she says, and Lily shoves at her half-heartedly, accepts the pork pie as a truce, and allows Marlene to fill her glass with some of Ogden’s finest.

“Check out Evans, all grown up,” Marlene says with a laugh, patting her on the head, before Frank takes the whole bottle for himself and the rest of the Sixth Years.

Lily is feeling sleepy and full when James Potter flops down into a chair next to her. He’d been dancing animatedly with Pettigrew, swinging the smaller boy around in ridiculous pirouettes and bends, and he wiggles his nose to push his glasses further up where they’d fallen down with sweat. _What is it with Potter and being as sweaty as possible? Remus is a teenage boy, and so is Severus, and they’re not as sweaty as this._ Sweaty or no, Potter grins at her, unperturbed by how their last meeting ended.

“So, Evans, enjoying yourself? Want another refill?” he asks, indicating her empty glass.

“No, thanks,” she answers. “I’m going to stick to butterbeer from now.”

“Ah, of course, can’t have saintly Lily Evans consuming too much alcohol.”

Lily narrows her eyes. “And how much have you consumed?”

“I can handle it,” he insists.

“Hm. If ever you’re up near Cokeworth, remind me to take you to my dad’s local, and we’ll have this conversation again.”

Potter’s grin widens. “It’s a date.”

“It’s not,” she corrects him, and he laughs loudly.

“So, how’d you find the exams?”

Lily shrugs. “Okay, I guess. I mean, History of Magic was -”

“Dismal?” he puts in, nodding sagely. “I think we should get marks just for staying awake, personally. I knew all the answers though. Transfiguration was a breeze, obviously, and I knew I’d never have any problems with Care of Magical Creatures or Divs. I just made up a lot of stuff about death and gloom, they love that stuff, those star-gazery people, don’t they? And Potions, well, you’ve got to be an idiot to balls up Potions - all you have to do is follow the book and do all the steps and you can’t really go wrong.”

“Do you realise you’re still talking?” Lily asks him.

He frowns. “What?”

“You’re so arrogant,” she says, shaking her head. “Look, I have better things to do right now. If you want someone to talk to who is really interested in the life of James Potter, then there’s a mirror in the bathroom.”

For the second time in less than three days, Lily gets up and leaves Potter behind her. She hopes this isn’t going to be a recurring theme. 

::

“What is her problem?”

Five minutes after Lily left the common room, and James is still asking the same question. Remus contemplates patting him on the shoulder, but settles instead for handing him another butterbeer, which he waves off. Sirius is involved in some sort of dancing competition with Marlene in the middle of the common room, and that leaves Remus and Peter with brooding James. Brooding James is Remus’ least favourite kind of James.

“I’m not arrogant,” he continues, scowling at the wall. “I was just being friendly. We’ve lived together for three years, and we’ve never really had a proper conversation. You’d think that saving her from some wannabe Death Eaters would fix that, but no, not good enough for Lily bloody Evans.”

“James, you don’t know they were -”

“Of course I do, Moony. Where do you think Avery’s gone, now he’s been chucked out? I doubt this Voldemort cares about N.E.W.T scores.”

Peter flinches at the name, and Remus tries not to snap at him. Lately, the media has started dodging his actual name, something no doubt intended to ramp up the publics fear and, annoyingly, it’s working. 

“You could go to Dumbledore then, and tell him who else you saw planning it,” Peter suggests.

James rolls his eyes. “What, and say I heard it all when I was hiding under my Invisibility Cloak? Yeah, that’d be a sure way to get it confiscated, so no thanks. At least it got rid of one of them, I suppose.”

“That’s the spirit,” Remus says encouragingly.

Marlene screams in the background as Sirius throws her over his shoulder and begins spinning her around. Remus watches for a moment, before turning back to James.

“It’s the end of year, can we please stop moping about over girls?”

“I’m not moping about girls,” Peter says, looking horrified at the very thought.

“Nor am I,” James says. “Just - commenting on how weird they are. I mean, it’s not like I care,” he adds hastily.

“Right,” Remus says slowly, as Marlene and Sirius go crashing into a crowd of Second Years. “Of course.”


	30. by the seaside.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys enjoy a relaxing day at the beach.

_July 14th 1974_

Up to his waist in the Tenby sea, Remus breathes in the salty air and squints at the horizon. There are a few fishing boats further out. Nearer, near him, there are children jumping about in the water, screeching every time a wave hits. Remus stands still as the tide comes in, feeling the surge wash over him but planting his feet, refusing to move backwards. He digs his toes into the grainy sand below the water, feeling small pebbles and bits of shell colliding with his feet.

“Enjoying yourself out here?” Sirius asks, wading out to meet him. “Didn’t think you were much of a sun-worshiper.”

Remus glances down at his pale chest, at the even paler scars criss-crossing his torso. Beneath the water, his legs look positively luminescent. Of the four of them, Sirius and James have probably come off the best in the quest to get a suntan. James, already darker than the rest of them, browns even more; Sirius achieves that natural, healthy-looking glow. Peter manages to look like an overripe tomato, and Remus - well, Remus doesn’t really change at all. 

“I’m not,” he admits. “Good thing the sun seems to just bounce off me.”

“If anyone asks from now on, I’m going to say that’s why we call you Moony,” Sirius says with a grin. 

He kicks his leg out in front of him, sending a shower of foamy water and sand raining down on unsuspecting children. A small boy clutching a bright inflatible dolphin glares at him as he doggy-paddles by.

“I think he’s going to pee in the water in retaliation,” Remus notes. “Be wary of the warm patches.”

Sirius pulls a disgusted face. “Bleurgh. Is that what the youth of Wales get up to? Is this what _you_ get up to, on your holidays?”

Remus just smiles. Nothing can ruin his mood right now. Not only did his parents allow his mates over for the summer holidays, but they also let them get the train to Tenby for the day. Sirius, strictly speaking, is staying with his Uncle Alphard for the summer, but his uncle hadn’t been the least bit bothered when Sirius said he wanted to go see his friends, and now here all four of them are. 

They’ve got ages until they have to get the train home, the whole day stretching gloriously in front of them.

When they head back to the beach, Peter is lying down on the beach, even redder than before, and James is enthusiastically digging a hole with a plastic spade. 

“Planning on burying Petey when he eventually bursts into flame and dies?” Sirius asks casually, flopping down on the towel next to Peter, sending a flurry of sand his way.

“Piss off,” Peter grumbles, his eyes closed. “I’m wearing factor 50, what more can I do?”

“Go in the shade?” Sirius suggests reasonably, rummaging around in the picnic basket Remus had brought with them and producing a sandwich. 

“That would require movement,” Peter says. “Don’t think I’m quite ready for that sort of commitment. I’ll just lie here and burn.”

“Not even for a sandwich?” Sirius asks, waving his ham and cheese above Peter’s face. 

Peter’s nose twitches, and he opens one eye. 

“Ah, now you all appreciate the fact I brought a picnic,” Remus says. They’d all laughed at him when he had appeared in the kitchen that morning, basket in hand, but as Sirius tears hungrily into his sandwich, Remus can’t help but feel a bit smug. “Good job I thought ahead, eh?”

“Your thinking ahead is still a bit womanly.”

“I’ll have my womanly sandwich back then,” Remus says coolly, holding out his hand. “And I won't bother with the butterbeer and cakes.”

“There’s butterbeer and cakes?” James asks, popping up suddenly from his hole. 

Sirius shoves the rest of the sandwich in his mouth at once, as if afraid Remus is going to wrestle it from him. As if Remus has the energy.

“Dad Extended the basket,” Remus says with a shrug. “There’s all sorts in there. I even have books and newspapers too, if we get bored.”

“If we get bored!” Sirius exclaims. “Have you heard this, boys? Here we have a whole beach to explore, a sea to swim in, holes to dig, sandwiches to eat, and Lupin here thinks we need books and newspapers!”

Peter manages a half-hearted grunt in response, which might be agreement, or might just be the noise he makes when he’s wilting. James has gone back to his hole. 

“I’ll not bother saving you the crosswords either, then, shall I?” Remus asks, one eyebrow raised.

Sirius looks at him, a bit shifty. “Well, let’s not be hasty. Who knows, the hole-digging and beach-exploring and sea-swimming and sandwich-eating might get a bit dull after a bit. And then what would we do?”

“Find a crab and put it in Peter’s trousers,” James calls from the depths of the hole. Remus leans across Peter’s sun-scorched body to have a look at James' progress. It really is quite impressive.

“Yes, but after that,” Sirius says, as Peter groans in an accepting-his-fate sort of way. 

“I’ll save you the crosswords, don’t worry,” Remus assures him, and Sirius smiles at him like the sun dazzling off of the sea.


	31. a cokeworth welcome.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Benjy visits Lily in Cokeworth. Severus and Petunia are not too pleased.
> 
> tw for this chapter: racism, racial slurs.

_July 30th 1974._

Over lukewarm tea and a soggy fry-up in the local dingy café, Lily tells Sev about Benjy coming to visit, and it goes down about as well as the breakfast. That is, he nearly chokes on it.

“Fenwick?” he says, spluttering slightly; Lily pushes the cup of tea towards him, but he waves it off. He bangs his fist into his chest, trying to dislodge the bit of bacon that has apparently rammed itself into his esophagus, and says, “He’s coming to visit you - here?”

“This is where I can usually be found in the summer,” Lily says, arching an eyebrow at his reaction.

Sev scowls down at his plate. It was unappetising at best in the first place, and this blow of news has done absolutely zero in the way of making him feel any better. He tries to picture Benjy Fenwick here in Cokeworth - in the old rec, in this café, at Lily’s house - and his lip curls at the idea. Cokeworth may not be the greatest place on earth, but it’s theirs. It’s the one place where, usually, Lily is his for six whole weeks of summer, where they can spend time together and do normal things like having breakfast together without any incredulous looks or snide comments. All Sev can imagine now is Fenwick accompanying them everywhere - or even worse, he, Sev, will be shunted out entirely. 

Truth be told, Severus hasn’t had much to do with Benjy Fenwick at all in the whole three years he’s been at Hogwarts. Fenwick is a year above him, and in Ravenclaw; Sev can’t even think of a time they’ve even so much as glanced at each other, let alone spoken. Still, all it takes is the memory of him and Lily in that ridiculous café on Valentines Day, and Sev feels as if his breakfast is going to make a reappearance all over the tatty tablecloth.

Apart from Fenwick’s horrible choice in date locations, all Severus really knows about him is that he’s a Quidditch player (which really tells Sev everything he needs to know) and that he’s the founder of that Muggle-Born Society. Was the founder, until - 

Until Sev had mentioned it to Regulus, and Regulus had roared about it in the common room, blurting it out to all and sundry. But, Sev tells himself firmly, that’s not his fault. It’s not his fault that Regulus told everyone, that Avery took it as a dare, that some people in his House are far too easily stirred up. After that whole debacle which landed Fenwick in the Hospital Wing and Avery with expulsion, Sev had spent his last term at school actively trying to avoid any situation where he would possibly have to look Fenwick in the eye. 

Severus tries to push these thoughts aside, to ignore the voice hissing accusingly in his mind: _It could have been Lily._

 _But it wasn’t,_ he tells himself firmly. _Stop thinking like that. You haven’t done anything wrong._

“When is he getting here?” he asks, staring down at his breakfast, his stomach clenching slightly.

“One o’clock,” Lily answers, and Severus does look up at that; he had expected her to say “tomorrow” or “two weeks from now” or, even better, “he’s not, I’m only pulling your leg.” 

“He’s coming today?”

Sev hates himself for it, but he really can’t help the whiny tone that creeps into his voice. He’d been hoping they’d have the day together, at the very least.

“Well, yeah,” Lily says, and now she’s not looking at him. He gets the distinct impression that she’s feigning nonchalance; she picks up a slice of grease-dripped toast, takes a bite, and her casual demeanour is immediately ruined when she spits it out into her napkin with a disgusted noise.

“You are a charmer, do you know that?” Severus murmurs.

Lily scowls at him. “Shut it. Anyway, yes, he’s coming today. One o’clock. My dad is taking me to the train station if you want to come?”

“Er - no thanks. I suppose you’ll want to be alone.”

Lily is raising her eyebrows again, but her cheeks have taken on a pinkish tinge. “We won’t be very alone with my dad there, you berk.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“He’s staying in my room, you know. Alone, I mean,” Lily says hastily, and the pinkish tinge turns to a full on scarlet. “I’m not there. I’m sharing with Petunia.”

“Poor you,” Severus says, tone unsympathetic. He takes a stab at his sausages. He’s not the least bit hungry, but imagining that they have Fenwick’s face makes him feel marginally better, at least.

::

Lily’s dad asks all sorts of questions in the car ride to Cokeworth train station, quizzing her about Benjy and what he’s like. Lily is extremely grateful that Benjy is Muggle-born; at least explaining to her dad that his parents work in a bank and for a magazine is a lot easier than trying to explain magical careers to someone who looks like he’s already struggling with the concept of driving to pick up his youngest daughter’s boyfriend.

Petunia had refused the offer of coming along for the ride with a sneer and a nasty comment. Perhaps she’d thought that Benjy would turn up in full wizarding regalia, toting his broomstick and owl (Tuney’s worst nightmare, Lily knows) but as they pull up outside the train station, Lily thinks that even Petunia would struggle to find anything offensive about Benjy’s appearance.

He’s wearing a simple white t-shirt and jeans, no robes or pointed hat in sight, and a brown rucksack slung over one shoulder. Staring around the deserted Cokeworth street with a mildly puzzled expression on his face, Benjy looks as if he’s wondering if he’s got off at the right stop. Lily leans across her dad to toot the horn. Benjy startles but then his face relaxes into a grin when he sees her waving through the window.

“Hello,” he says brightly as he gets in the back of the car. “Nice to meet you, Mr Evans. I’m Benjamin.”

“Benjy,” Lily corrects, laughing. “I’ve never heard anyone call you Benjamin.”

Benjy meets her gaze in the rear-view mirror and pulls a face. “You’ve never heard my mum shout at me to clean my room.”

Lily notices her dad’s grip on the steering wheel relax slightly. This is someone he can relate to: a boy like any other, a boy who gets bossed around by his parents to do his chores. 

“Pleased to meet you, lad,” her dad says gruffly, and Lily bounces slightly in her seat.

So far, so good.

When they arrive home, it’s to find that Petunia is suspiciously absent. At first Lily assumes she must be out at a friend’s house, but when she’s showing Benjy around upstairs, there’s the sound of music coming from behind Petunia’s closed door. Lily stops deliberately outside her sister’s room, raising her voice.

“And this is my sister’s room, Benjy, so sorry she’s not coming out to say hello, she’s not too great with company.”

Benjy grins knowingly and, as they turn to go back downstairs, Lily hears the music being turned down and - if she’s not mistaken - a disapproving sniff. 

::

Petunia doesn’t come down for dinner that night, much to Lily’s annoyance. Their mum disappears upstairs to talk to her, to try to coax her down, and comes down five minutes later, shaking her head and claiming that Petunia isn’t feeling well.

“Likely,” Lily mutters, and both her parents shoot her reproachful looks from over the table.

It’s not even as if Lily particularly wants Petunia to meet Benjy - it’s not like she cares about her sister’s opinion, especially when it comes to boys. One look at Petunia’s track record is enough anyone needs to know about her taste in men. But still, that’s not the point, and it rankles Lily. After all, she’s had to suffer through plenty of dinners pretending to listen as Arnold or Kevin or whoever prattle on about their ambitions to join their da’s companies, boxing toothpicks or something else equally as thrilling. Benjy’s more interesting than the whole bunch of them.

Petunia’s being downright rude, and the more Lily thinks about it the more it riles her up. It must show on her face, because after dinner, when her and Benjy are washing the plates, he says, “You shouldn’t let her wind you up so much.”

That’s all it takes, and suddenly Lily can’t hold it in anymore. “She’s just - she’s awful, Benjy! I can’t believe her. It’s bad manners. You’re here for two days, what does she expect to do? Hide in her room the whole time?”

She sets the plate she’s holding aside for fear she might break it, but Benjy just shrugs. “From what you’ve told me, sounds like that would be the best thing. I’m really not bothered.”

“Well, you might not be. I, however, am going to put frogspawn in her shampoo the first chance I get.”

Benjy grins and leans forward quickly, kissing her on the lips. Lily blushes and busies herself with wiping a glass dry, just as her dad comes into the kitchen to get the pudding.

::

The bedroom is dark when Lily goes up to bed. She can just make out the shadow of her sister curled up in bed, but Lily doesn’t bother to be quiet as she walks in.

“I know you’re faking it,” she says. “You’re not asleep, and you’re not ill.”

“For your information, I have a cold,” Petunia says. 

Lily snorts. “Well, that explains all the sniffing you’ve been doing lately,” she says, taking off her jeans and t-shirt and pulling on a long nightdress. “For a while I had begun to think it was your way of letting me know you were unhappy about something.”

“You think far too much of yourself,” Petunia says haughtily. “Not everything is about you.”

“No, but today was sort of about introducing my friend to my family.”

Lily makes her way to the bed, stepping over the bundle of blankets her sister has set out on the floor.

“Your boyfriend, you mean - ahh, your feet are freezing! Get away! Why can’t you sleep on the floor?”

“The bed is comfier, thanks. Budge over.”

“We’re a bit old for this, aren’t we?” Petunia says, sounding weary. Lily can’t see her, but she imagines she’s rolling her eyes. “You’ll catch my cold.”

Lily snuggles down further. “I’ll risk it, ta.”

A heavy silence engulfs the room, broken only by the rustle of fabric as the sisters have a brief but determined fight over the duvet. Lily likes sleeping with one leg out of the covers; Petunia wraps herself up like she’s trying to mummify herself. When Lily tugs the bed covers more over her side, Petunia makes a noise like an irritated horse, and Lily bursts out, “Fine, if I’m bothering you so much I can go back to my room!”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Petunia hisses. “You will have some decorum, thank you!”

“I’m only kidding,” Lily says, smirking. There’s a part of her that will never tire of winding her sister up. “Didn’t know you cared so much about my honour, Tuney.”

“Yes, well. You are my little sister, aggravating as you are.”

Petunia’s tone is despairing, but Lily’s heart does a little somersault. Petunia puts most of her efforts into pretending she doesn’t have a sister; the acknowledgment, however reluctant, is more than Lily’s had in months. She relinquishes her hold on the blankets a bit.

“He’s a really nice boy, Petunia. You should give him a chance -”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Petunia says shortly.

“Fine. Fine. So - how’s Arnold then?”

“We broke up.”

Lily tries to sound as if she cares. “Oh, no. What happened?”

“I found out he was seeing Rebecca Sutcliffe behind my back. I don’t really want to talk about this either, Lily. Besides anything else, it was two months ago.”

Petunia’s tone lets Lily know that the chance for further conversation is closed. Lily feels the brief fluttering of discomfort at the fact she didn’t know - hadn’t bothered to ask, really - much about her sister’s life in any detail over the last few months, but then dismisses it quickly, reminding herself of Petunia’s behaviour today. 

Lily sighs into the dark of the room, and doesn’t try to speak again.

::

Lily gets up and dressed early the next morning, careful not to disturb Petunia. She suspects that Petunia, normally an early-riser herself, is only pretending to be asleep, but either way it suits Lily fine. She has a plan for today: something that will get both her and Benjy out of the house and away from her sister for the majority of the day.

They go to Friar’s Wood, one of the best places for locally sourced potion ingredients in the area. Severus had originally told her about it, and so they make a detour to Spinner’s End first. Waiting outside his house, Benjy looks up and down the cobbled street, his brow furrowed.

“Cheerful place, this,” he comments.

“Shush,” Lily says, just as the front door opens.

Tobias Snape is a tall, broad-shouldered man with a mess of dark hair, beady eyes and a cruel twist to his mouth. Lily blinks, somewhat surprised to see Sev’s dad there at all, but tries to compose herself.

“Hello. Is Severus in?”

Tobias takes a long drag on his cigarette, his eyes travelling up and down Lily and then flicking sideways to Benjy. His lip curls, smoke billowing out of his nose, and then he turns back into the gloom of the house. “Severus!” he shouts. “Door for you! Some girl and a darky.”

Lily feels Benjy stiffen beside her and she places a hand on his arm. Tobias glowers, frowning so much his eyebrows practically touch, but before anyone can say anything there’s the sound of someone running down the stairs and Severus appears.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, frowning too; for one horrible moment Lily can see the resemblance to his dad. “I didn’t - expect you so early.”

“I thought we could go out,” Lily says in a voice of forced calm, trying not to look at Tobias. “Friar’s Wood, you know, for -”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sev says quickly, cutting her off before she can say ‘potions ingredients’. He glances at his dad. “I’ll be back before tea,” he mutters, edging past, grabbing a coat from the back of the door on his way by.

Tobias merely grunts. “Bloody better be.”

The door slams behind him and there’s an awkward moment in which Benjy and Sev stare at each other with ill-disguised dislike. 

“Benjy, you know Severus, don’t you?” Lily says, stepping in between the two as they walk along Spinner’s End.

“I’ve heard of you,” Benjy says. “Friends with Jarvis Avery, aren’t you?”

“I knew him,” Sev says coolly. “As would be expected, being in the same House. Thought he was a bit of a prat, to be honest.”

“That’s one word for it,” Benjy says slowly.

Lily keeps up a steady stream of chatter as they walk along the canal-side to the wood. Now that it’s actually happening, she can see the flaw in her plans to invite Severus along. She doesn’t want to exclude him, but then again the point of today had been that she wanted a conflict-free day with Benjy, and now that had already gone down like a lead balloon. 

They reach the thick of the wood in less than an hour, and Severus glances around. “This’ll do,” he says, slinging his coat off and dumping it on the dusty ground. “There’ll be all sorts you can find here - did you bring the book?”

Lily pulls _Brewing In Your Own Back Garden - Common Potion Ingredients Found in Lancashire and Yorkshire_ out of her bag and Severus smiles approvingly. Benjy takes the book from her, turning it over in his hands.

“Bit of a relic, this, isn’t it?” he laughs, running his thumb over the already crumbling spine of the book.

Severus scowls and Lily tugs the book away from Benjy. “Severus got it me for Christmas,” she explains.

“Oh, right. Well, no offense meant, mate.”

“None taken,” Severus says, but the bitter edge to his voice is not lost on Lily.

She clears her throat. “It’s a really useful book, actually,” she says, looking over at Sev, but he’s busy pulling a bottle of water out of his coat pocket.

“You’re the Potions expert,” Benjy says, shrugging. “So - what are we looking for?”

Benjy actually turns out to do as minimal looking as possible. As Sev and Lily hunt for specific types of tree roots, berries and nettles, Benjy settles himself against the trunk of the biggest tree and seems content to just watch them. 

“Hope he’s not straining himself over there,” Severus mutters as he and Lily are bent down over a patch of reddish-purple berries, examining them against an illustration in the book. 

“Be nice,” Lily says quietly. “He’s told me before, he’s not that into Potions.”

“Bit of a shit date you’ve gone on then, isn’t it?” Sev asks, his lips quirking.

“It’s not a date, Sev,” Lily says exasperatedly. “I just wanted to get out of the house, and honestly what else would we have all done together? Gone to the pictures?”

Sev shrugs. “So how are things at your house?”

“Oh, as expected really. Petunia refuses to even meet him properly, but mum and dad seem to like him all right.” She can feel Sev staring at her again, and avoids looking him in the eye as she grabs a few berries and puts them into a tub. “You know, I might take a few of these to Slughorn and see what he thinks. I don’t think I’ve ever seen this type in his supplies.”

“You’ll be the favourite before term has even started.”

Lily flashes him a grin. “I’ll always be the favourite, let’s be realistic.”

Ten more minutes in, and Lily hears Severus’ stomach growl. She grins at him.

“Good thing we brought lunch.”

They both go back to sit near Benjy, who perks up at the mention of food. Lily hands out sandwiches and Severus passes round the bottles of water, both of them talking animatedly about the unusual spiny-looking leaf they had found growing on a bush nearby. 

“Looks a bit like brambleweed,” Severus says, tearing into a cheese and tomato sandwich. “If brewed under a full moon, it’s quite useful in a lot of remedies for joint pain and such.”

“Very knowledgeable, you, aren’t you?” Benjy says, taking a swig of water. Severus’ eyes flash, and Lily thinks, _please don’t argue._ “I mean, that’s advanced Potions stuff you’re talking about.”

“I like reading ahead,” Sev says quietly. “Not a problem, is it?”

“’Course not,” Benjy says. “But it’s the same with the Dark Arts too, or so I’m told. You know a lot.”

“Benjy!” Lily cries.

Sev’s voice, however, is calm. “Yeah? Told by who?”

“Well, kinda common knowledge. I mean, the people you hang about with, for a start -”

“If you mean Avery,” Lily says, bristling, “Sev has already told you -”

“Not just Avery,” Benjy carries on, taking another drink. “There’s Mulciber, now he’s as dodgy as they come, and Regulus Black? Come on, his family is as Dark as anything. I remember when his cousins were at Hogwarts. I bet you anything he was in on the attack on the Muggle-borns.”

Sev, to Lily’s surprise, is smiling. “If you think so, why haven’t you gone to Dumbledore?”

“Need proof, don’t I? Dumbledore would never kick anyone out of Hogwarts without proof. He’s very trusting, Dumbledore.”

“But you think he’s wrong?”

“About some people, yeah,” Benjy says harshly.

“Right, that’s enough!” Lily says shrilly, standing up. “Benjy - what the hell has gotten into you? Severus is my friend, you can’t just go about - accusing him of all sorts!”

Benjy shakes his head. “I can’t believe he’s managed to fool you, Lily. I thought you had more sense.”

“Excuse me?” Lily says coldly, staring down at him. 

He doesn’t look at her, just takes another sip of water. 

“I just think you’re being a bit naive,” Benjy says. “You’re seeing what you want to see, and it’s getting old fast. I knew you knew Snape and were friendly with him, but protecting him like this? You’re mad.”

Lily barely registers Severus’ intake of breath. She forces her own breathing to even out, and is thankful she’s left her wand at home for fear of what she might do. 

“I really think you ought to get an early train home, Benjy,” she says, and there’s a part of her that can’t believe she’s saying this: this is Benjy Fenwick, one of the most laid-back people she knows. Yeah, so he gets a bit stubborn and hard-headed about causes that are important to him, but right now he’s just being rude. He’s not even giving Severus a chance. He’s being - well, he’s being exactly like Petunia. “I had thought you’d be a bit more understanding.”

“I’m not going to be nice to him, just because he’s from a crappy home and I feel sorry for him,” Benjy bursts out. “His dad’s a racist, just like him. The apple never falls far from the tree, Lily.”

“I am nothing like my father!” Severus growls, getting to his feet as well, his temper finally lost.

Lily gets in between the two and places a hand on Severus’ chest. She glares at Benjy. 

“When we get back home, you’re packing your bag and you’re gone,” she tells him firmly.

Behind her, she just misses the flicker of a triumphant smile on her best friend’s face.

::

Severus insists on hanging around until Fenwick has gotten on his train and leaves. He even wants to stay with Lily afterwards, but she shakes her head and says she wants to be alone. Sev hopes she doesn’t spend the rest of the day crying over Fenwick - after all, he’s proven what he really thinks. Lily is better off without him; it’ll just take her a while to see.

He lets himself in through the back door of his house, creeping past the living room where his dad is slumped in an armchair in front of the television, and heads straight up to his room. His school trunk is under the window, covered in a thick blanket, and he rips this away and looks for his Potions textbook. Flipping to the back, there’s what was once a blank page, but has now been taken up with Severus’ own handwritten notes. Finding a free space at the bottom, he takes the quill that Lily had given to him, and writes:

_One drop of Babbling Beverage combined with fluxweed and snake’s tongue, causes interesting effects not unlike Veritaserum. Causes the victim to blurt out innermost, mostly inappropriate to the moment, thoughts and feelings. Can be commonly disguised as water; apparently no obvious taste._

_Test subject successful._


	32. a weekend in wiltshire.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How the other half spend their summer holidays. Or: Regulus is bored, throws a strop, and gets an education.

_August 12th 1974._

Apart from the occasional bird call and the tinkling of the ice in the lemonade, the garden of Malfoy Manor is eerily silent. Regulus glances over the rim of his book, and finds not much has changed from when he last looked ten minutes ago. Narcissa, laid on a sun-lounger to his left, is still quietly perusing a pamplet she’d recieved that morning; the house-elf is stood to rigid attention, balancing their drinks on a tray (more than once Regulus has checked to see if the thing has been petrified, but no, he can see the steady rise and fall of its chest beneath its tea-towel); even the peacocks down on the lower lawn haven’t moved much, strutting around lazily, occasionally finding the effort to peck at the grass.

“Are you quite all right, cousin?” Cissy drawls from beside him, still looking at the pamphlet. “Only, you keep gazing around like some sort of frightened rabbit. It’s distracting.”

“I - I’m fine,” Regulus says, flushing. “It’s just - don’t you find it’s all rather quiet here?”

Narcissa pushes her sunglasses up to rest on top of her head and looks over at him at last, setting the pamphlet to one side. Regulus catches sight of the title: _Struggles of the Pure._ It must be a thoroughly engrossing read; Cissy’s not put it down all day, although surely she must have read the whole thing front to back by now. 

“You are a city boy, aren’t you?” Cissy says, amused. “Of course it’s quiet, Regulus. It’s peaceful. Isn’t this what you wanted, a break?”

Regulus thinks back to the first few days of his holiday. There had been the usual rowing match between Mother and Sirius, naturally; and then Sirius had decided to finally send the old girl loopy by leaving odd Muggle objects all around the house. On top of the piano, on Mother’s place mat on the dining table, even in their parents’ bedroom. Sirius had told him through his laughter that they were called pens - something Muggles used to write with, apparently - and had insisted they were harmless. Still, Mother had not reacted too kindly, had shrieked at her eldest for hours about bringing tainted Muggle propaganda and filth into her home. She’d ordered Kreacher to clean the house from top to bottom to remove the stain of the impure from her home, and hadn’t bothered in the slightest when Uncle Alphard had Floo-called in one day and offered to take Sirius off her hands. Usually Mother likes to keep Sirius under her watch, but Regulus thinks she may have been sent to an early grave if she’d had to put up with any more of Sirius’ so-called jokes any longer.

Alphard had offered Regulus the chance to come along, but he declined. He’d been meaning to visit Cissy in Wiltshire for an age anyhow. 

Grimmauld Place is different without his brother - the halls seem darker, the rooms smaller - and even though it’s quieter with Sirius gone, the silence is somewhat stifling. Wiltshire is different than being at Hogwarts too, where there’s always someone to talk to, always one of his friends nearby. 

He had hoped, really, that Malfoy Manor would be a bit more - well, a bit more lively. He’d imagined a whirl of society functions, parties and people Floo-ing in and out full of the latest gossip. Really, it’s not the case. Lucius is out a lot - business calls, Cissy says - and often times it’s at night; he’ll return home at odd hours and sleeps quite late after. He’s recognised a few people that have come to call, but it’s never for Cissy, always Lucius, and they’ll shut themselves into the study until it’s time to leave.

Really the whole trip has been a bit of a bore, although Regulus would rather die than admit this to his cousin.

“I suppose it just takes a bit of adjustment,” he says. “All this country air and whatnot.”

“It’s good for you,” Narcissa says decisively. “Honestly I cannot abide the city now. How Bella copes in Knockturn I will never know. All those people traipsing by day and night, all the shopkeepers screeching; I think it would drive me mad.”

Regulus nods, although he’s not sure he agrees. He likes busy places, places where there’s so much going on you can’t be locked up in your own head for too long. 

“Good afternoon!” a cheery voice calls, startling the peacocks, and Regulus too. He looks up to see a young wizard striding up the lawn towards them, Lucius at his side. When the man gets near enough, he bends down to place a kiss on Cissy’s hand.

“Ed,” she says, smiling gracefully at the stranger. “I had no idea you were coming.”

“Surprised me, too,” Lucius says, sitting next to his wife and smiling too. “A welcome one, though, of course.”

“I should think so!” the man says genially. “I shudder to think what the two of you would do, cooped up here all by yourself with your birds, without me. Although I see you have company,” he continues, his eyes turning to Regulus. He has funny coloured eyes, Regulus thinks; hazel, almost yellow. Like a cat. 

“Oh, Ed, this is my youngest cousin. Regulus Black.”

“A Black! A pleasure, I’m sure. In that case, we’re probably fourth-great-cousins-twice-removed, but I shall introduce myself anyway. Edmund Nott, at your service.”

Regulus’ lessons kick in automatically. Nott. Sacred Twenty-Eight. He relaxes into a smile, shaking the man’s hand. He remembers something else, too: “You were best man at their wedding.”

“I was indeed,” Nott says, smile widening to reveal straight white teeth. “An honour still.”

“Oh, get away with your flattery,” Cissy says, but she’s laughing. “Do tell me, what brings you here?”

“Well, truthfully I must say I am pleased your young companion is here,” Nott says, inclining his head at Regulus. Regulus frowns. What on earth could this man be pleased about regarding him? “You attend Hogwarts, I assume?”

“I’ll be entering Third Year in September.”

“I have heard - ah - some rumours, about the state of Hogwarts.”

Lucius snorts contemptuously. “Surely it can’t get much worse.”

“Hmm,” Nott says, and then fixes Regulus with a piercing stare. “Tell me, my boy, who has been conducting your Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons?”

“Er,” Regulus says, suddenly nervous. “Well, it was Professor Mayhew, although he retired in June. I don’t know who will be the next teacher -”

“Yes, but who actually carries the lessons out?” Nott prods. “I mean to say, your practical lessons? Did Mayhew conduct them?”

“Oh - no - we had guest teachers last year for that sort of thing. Two brothers. Twins, by the name of Prewett.”

“So it’s true,” Nott says quietly, as Lucius swears and Narcissa’s eyes widen. Business-like, Nott turns to Lucius abruptly. “It’s what I’ve been telling you, Lucius; the old man isn’t as daft as we’d all like to think. The evidence is right there.”

“Regulus,” Lucius barks. “You’re not to talk to those Prewett’s, if ever you see them again, am I clear?”

“Nasty little imps,” Cissy adds with a delicate shudder.

“Why would they ever try to talk to me?” Regulus asks, bemused.

“They’re blood-traitors, the worst sort of wizard, besides a Mudblood,” Nott says. Of course Regulus knows all about blood-traitors; Bella and Mother have told him all there is to know. He thinks of the Prewett twins, so lively in their lessons, so - helpful, almost. Regulus had thought them kind. “They prey on the weak-minded, the young and the vulnerable.”

“I am not vulnerable,” Regulus says heatedly.

Nott ignores him and looks at Lucius. “He’s up to something. They’re fighting back. Gus has his spies in the Ministry, as you know, and apparently Barty Crouch is tipped as the next Head of the DMLE. Promotion within the next few weeks, Gus reckons. He’s a stickler for the rules if ever there was one; probably strong-minded too. Harder to break, I’d say.”

“I know him!” Regulus says, and all heads swivel to look at him. He swallows, stammers, “That is - well, we’re related. Barty Crouch Jr is my friend.”

Nott laughs at this. “Is he now? Well, keep that friendship up. If we can sway the boy on to our side, imagine how that would look to Mr Perfect -”

“Ed, they’re just children,” Cissy says, looking uneasy. “Must we involve them?”

“It’s for the children we’re doing this, Narcissa,” Nott says sternly. “They are the future. Think of your own children - surely you want them to grow up in a world where they know their worth, and it isn’t questioned by fools such as Albus Dumbledore? He plays the game just as well. Getting idiots like the Prewett’s to impress his students; as if we can’t tell what he’s up to!”

“But still,” Cissy says, with a glance at Lucius. “Regulus is only thirteen, and I’m not sure Aunt Walburga would approve -”

“ _Fuck_ Walburga,” Lucius says suddenly, and both Regulus and Narcissa stare at him, open-mouthed. “She’s lost her touch. She’s already frightened Sirius off; keeps pushing him away every time she sees him. He’s refused us. I mean, where is he now, off with that addled Uncle of yours? Visiting your _sister_?”

“I beg your pardon, Lucius Malfoy!” Narcissa screeches. “This is my family you are talking about!”

“With all due respect, _my dear_ ,” Lucius grinds out, “it seems quite apparent your family is losing touch with the old ways. Save for Bella, of course. Who else is willing to do something about it all? To put their Galleons where their mouth is? They are content to sit in their grand townhouses while the world outside them _burns with Muggle filth_. I bet you it’s probably already too late for Regulus here.”

“It’s not,” Regulus says, without a clue what Lucius is talking about - only, only he knows he is not like the rest of his family. He is not like his Mother and Father, cold and unfeeling; he is not like Sirius, wasting his life away; he is not like addled Uncle Alphard and flighty Andromeda. 

“Regulus, hush,” Narcissa snaps.

Edmund Nott, however, regards him thoughtfully. “The boy may have promise, Narcissa. And he won’t be thirteen forever.”

“I have promise,” Regulus says eagerly. 

“Regulus, go to your room,” Narcissa says quietly.

“No - I shan’t! It’s Lucius’ house, anyway, and -”

“Regulus Arcturus Black, get to your room now before I put you there!” Narcissa shouts. The house-elf trembles, and a peacock pauses to look, its feathers ruffled.

Lucius and Nott swap glances, and neither of them say anything. They don’t speak up in his defense, and so, furious, Regulus storms back into the Manor and up to his room. He throws himself on to his bed, blinking hard as he stares up at the canopy. He’s never really fought with Cissy before.

_What does she know,_ he thinks angrily, punching his pillow into a better shape. _I’ll show her I’m not some stupid baby. She’ll see._

He must fall asleep, because he jerks back into consciousness some time later and sees that its dark outside. He sits up, stretching, intending to take his robes off and find some bed clothes - and spots something on the floor by the door. As if someone had pushed it underneath the gap.

Regulus snatches it up, eyes scanning it eagerly. 

_Struggles of the Pure._

He smiles slowly as he turns the first page. At least someone can see he has potential.


	33. camping.

_August 22nd 1974._

In a field near the Lupin family home, James Potter is trying to light a fire the Muggle way; Peter is supposed to be helping, but is laughing too much at James’ incompetence to be of much use. Remus leans back against the tree trunk he’s sharing with Sirius, a smile on his face as he watches James drop yet another match, yelping and inspecting his scorched fingers.

“It almost makes you feel sorry for him, doesn’t it?” Sirius says. “Until you remember his huge family fortune, massive house, doting parents, and his, erm -”

“-toned Quidditch muscles?” Remus supplies dryly.

Sirius gives him a shrewd look. “Keep your fantasies to yourself, you old dog.”

“Should I go over and help?” Remus sighs, as James gives a short-lived cry of joy as the match lights, promptly blowing it out with his own breath.

“Oh, but it would ruin the fun.”

“It would speed up dinner.”

Sirius straightens his shoulders, suddenly alert. “I would like my sausages before two in the morning. Well volunteered, Moony. It’s all right, Potter, help is on the way!”

“I’d like to see you try this!” James yells back, chucking the box of matches down on the ground near their fire and sitting down, cross-legged, staring moodily at the logs and singed matches.

“All right, I will,” Sirius says, getting to his feet with a swagger and making his way over to the campfire. 

“Er - Sirius - have you ever lit a match before?” Remus asks, as Sirius squats down to pick up the box, inspecting it curiously.

“Have I ever lit a match!” Sirius roars, looking round at them all. “Have I - well. No, the answer is no, but if Peter can do it, how hard can it be?”

Peter throws him a dirty look. “I hope you burn your eyelashes off,” he says, sitting next to James on the grass.

“Hear, hear,” James mutters, clapping Peter on the back.

“Moony’s on my side, aren’t you?” Sirius says, fluttering his eyelashes.

One of the things about Sirius, Remus thinks, is that he really does have long eyelashes for a boy. It’s almost obscene. Makes it hard to concentrate. He tries to make a noncommittal noise, but it dies in the back of his throat. It comes out like: _weerp._

Sirius pulls a match from the box, holds it between his thumb and forefinger, and eyes it closely. He rolls it between his fingers, and then strikes it, quickly, on the side of the box. It sparks, ignites, and Sirius lets out a crow of triumphant laughter as he holds a leaf next to it. Remus is impressed despite telling himself he shouldn’t give Sirius the encouragement - Sirius is already far too good at far too many things - and even James mutters a grudging “all right, bully for you,” as, moments later, they have the beginnings of a very small fire crackling away.

“Sorry, Pete,” Sirius says, stretching his legs out next to him and running his index finger over one eyebrow. “Still intact, I’m afraid.”

“You’re so _smug_ ,” Remus says, shaking his head despairingly as he looks in his bag for a tin of baked beans. “Do you know your lips go all lopsided when you're trying not to do that smirk thing?”

“You spend far too much time worried about my lips, Moony,” Sirius says, and Remus feels his stomach drop a few inches lower. “The real important issue is - when’s dinner?”

“Well, it will take a while,” Remus mutters, pretending to still look for the beans despite the fact his hand is clasped around the tin. “It’s not just, you know, hey presto!”

“ _Hey presto?_ ” James repeats, exchanging a gleeful look with Sirius. “What a fabulous wizard you are. You’ll have to teach me that one.”

“Arse,” Remus says, chucking a tin at him; James catches it easily, of course, and grins at him. 

The fire roars into life, illuminating their faces as the night draws in. It had been James’ idea to go camping. Remus hadn’t really been too keen on the idea - memories of damp camping holidays squashed into a tent with his parents sprang to mind - but the other three talked him into it. The weather is decent enough, and the place they’ve chosen is close enough to Remus’ house in case anyone set fire to the tent or any other disaster struck. 

As they eat their dinner of blackened sausages and beans, huddled around the fire in a semi-circle, Peter tells everyone a Muggle ghost story his step-sister told him. Sirius is sat next to Remus, spread out as usual, taking up more space than is probably necessary. His knuckles graze Remus’ knee, tickle over a small tear in Remus’ jeans; Sirius is moving his hands and arms, gesticulating as he one-ups Peter’s story with one his Uncle Alphard told him involving a hag, a creepy child, and a cursed necklace that choked the wearer.

“Was that one of your bedroom stories as a kid, Sirius?” James asks when it’s over, as Peter looks slightly green.

“If you’re scared, you can snuggle up to me tonight,” Sirius says with a lavish wink.

“I’ll be doing that anyway,” James says casually. “It’s getting a bit chilly.”

It’s true; there’s nothing to shield them from the wind in this field, and their tent is only a Muggle one, not the wizarding sort that Remus knows Sirius and James may have been expecting. They all manage to squeeze in, something that Remus had been dubious about, and it’s a bit of a tight fit, but they’re all in in any case. The other three don’t seem to mind the squash, the closeness, and have no problem stripping off and getting into their pyjamas and sleeping bags. It had been the same when they went to Tenby at the start of the summer, Remus remembers; James and Sirius had strutted about in their trunks, and even Peter hadn’t been put off by the thought of changing behind a poorly held up towel. 

Remus, however, is painfully conscious of his own body; it seems to always be in the way, everything sticking out at jutting angles, his elbows permanently banging into something. He feels like a puppet at the best of times, not in control of his own body, being jerked haphazardly this way and that. Utterly no control. His dad had sat him down at Easter and given him a mumbled, quiet talk about _hormones_ and _change_ and _perfectly normal_ ; Lyall had given him a razor and instructions on how to use it, although really all that Remus ever managed even after nearly a week was a wispy bit of stubble that he’d hastily gotten rid of because it looked so sodding stupid. More pressingly, his voice likes to surprise him throughout the day; while Peter’s remains a youthful boyish tone, and James and Sirius seem to be able to control their vocal chords more, Remus’ voice pitches up and down embarrassingly at any given moment. 

There are other things, too. Things like the copy of a certain magazine Remus found in James’ case when he came to stay. Sirius, Remus is sure, wouldn’t get embarrassed about things like that. Sirius would probably think it was brilliant, even funny. He’d probably show it to everyone and quote bits from it, for Merlin’s sake. Remus had merely stared at it for an agonising thirty seconds while his brain sped up to twice its normally speed, feeling like some sort of prudish ancient grandmother, until he’d slammed the case lid shut and refused to meet James’ eye for a whole day. 

Now, Remus sits tucked into a corner of the tent while James and Sirius wrestle with each other over the biggest pillow, egged on by Peter. He tries to imagine himself in James’ place, easily shoving his hands down Sirius’ top without the slightest hesitation, and feels the heat rush to his face. He glances instead over at Peter, and wonders if Peter has begun to notice the opposite sex the same way James clearly has - they’re all fourteen, Sirius nearly fifteen - and Peter did have that one date with Moira O’Shea last year. He’d said they’d kissed, once, and had just shrugged and said it was “all right,” when questioned by the other two. Remus hadn’t questioned. Remus hadn’t cared.

“You all right, Moony?” Sirius asks, pausing mid-wrestle with one bare foot placed on James’ head. 

From his position beneath Sirius’ foot, James’ glasses are dangling off his nose. Peter, doubled over his own pillow, is pink in the face with laughter. 

“I’m fine,” Remus says, and curses his body yet again, because why does his voice have to go squeaky now? He coughs. “Just - just tired, I guess.”

“Well, let’s go to bed,” Sirius says. “I think Potter’s had enough.”

He releases James, who scowls at him. “You’re a madman, you know that?” he says grouchily, rubbing his neck.

Sirius grins. “I won the pillow, though. Beater strength will outwit your Chaser reflexes any day, my friend. Moony, mind if I kip down next to you?”

Remus blinks. “Uh - ‘course not.”

The tent is soon full of the sounds of Peter’s snores, which Remus finds oddly comforting. Familiar. He assumes that James and Sirius are asleep too, and nearly screams aloud when he rolls over to find Sirius staring at him, grey eyes open and reflecting the sliver of visible moonlight.

“Jesus - Merlin - you terrified me, you wanker!”

“Did you think I was the old hag?” Sirius asks, laugher in his throat. He makes a gurgling noise. “ _Ree-muss. I’ve come for my neeck-laaace._ ”

“Shut up,” Remus mutters, his heart still pounding. “Why aren’t you asleep?”

“Well, Peter snoring isn’t the most relaxing melody.”

“I think it’s sort of homely,” Remus admits. “Funny, isn’t it, what reminds people of home?”

“Well, broken glass and nasty spells remind _me_ of home, and yet I don’t think that would put me to sleep.”

“I didn’t - well, I didn’t mean _home_ home. I meant _Hogwarts_ home.”

“Ah. _Hogwarts home_. I suppose to me, Hogwarts home is the sound of James shouting at me early on Saturday mornings for Quidditch practice, and you sneezing over some dusty book, and McGonagall taking points from Gryffindor.”

“What lovely memories you have,” Remus murmurs.

“Better than Peter’s snores.”

“Touché.”

“Hey, Remus?”

“Hmm?”

There’s a hitch to Sirius’ breath, as though he’s waiting for something, and then, “I wanted to say - well, thanks. For having us all over. It’s been brilliant. I mean,” Sirius lowers his voice even more, “the Potters are amazing and everything, but you know how it’s always so busy there. James blowing stuff up and getting stuck in anything wider than a needle. _You know_. It’s been - it’s been super here, like a real holiday. On the beach and now camping, and watching that _Doctor What_ with your mum -”

“ _Doctor Who_.”

“Yeah, that. It’s been ace. So just wanted to say - thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Remus says quietly, the tent suddenly a lot warmer. “You should thank your uncle, too. He gave you a good alibi.”

“He’s the good sort,” Sirius says proudly. “I don’t need to speak to my mum if I can help it until Christmas now. I’m thinking of getting her a pen, what do you reckon?”

“I’ve got a collection of felt tips back at the house from when I was younger. Remind me to show you them.”

“What’s a felt tip?” Sirius asks, propping himself up on one elbow.

“Oh, Sirius,” Remus chuckles. “There’s so much you can learn.”


	34. journey to hogwarts.

_Late August - Early September 1974._

_Dear Uncle,_

_Are you missing me yet??_

_It is v. peaceful here at the Lupin’s except the strange thing is the Lupins themselves seem often scarce. Remus’ dad holes himself up in his study for most of the time - I see now where Remus gets it - and his mum is often out visiting people in the village. As far as I can tell she belongs to some sort of woman’s society, I asked Remus about it and he gave me a startled look and stammered that he didn’t have a clue. I haven’t asked Mrs Lupin herself yet, do you know I think she thinks we’re delinquent! I’ve managed to get a few conversations out of Mr Lupin about all the creatures he’s encountered, I suspect if you got him going he’d have a great deal of stories to tell, and a few times they’ve let us watch that strange telulvision thing, but mostly Mr and Mrs Lupin just leave us to our own devices which is fine by me but also nothing like Grimmauld Place where there’s always someone snooping about ready to tell on you to Mother._

_It’s also nothing like the Potter’s where Jasper and Althea (they said I can call them that, can you believe? I’ve never managed to do it to their face of course) actually seem to care and take an interest. Lyall and Hope (they haven’t said I can call them that) are jolly nice but nearly impossible to hold a relatable conversation with. Peter said what with Remus being positively middle-aged himself, they’ve probably no idea how to deal with teenagers. Funny but also quite sad if you think about it._

_Thanks for forwarding that owl to me from Mother, it took all of my self control not to tell her where I REALLY am, but I would like to see daylight again so I refrained._

_I got a letter from Drom too, she says she’ll be at yours in two days time so if you could pick me up then that would be brilliant. Can’t believe they’re not connected to the Floo network here, honestly! Just write back and let me know what time you’ll be arriving and I’ll tell the Lupins to expect you._

_Are Nym and Ted going to be at yours too? I hope so._

_Anyway got to go Uncle - I can hear James hollering from upstairs, I suppose I should go and see where he’s gotten stuck this time._

_See you soon!_

_Sirius._

::

The crackling of the fire in the Lupin’s front room is intermingled with the sound of Peter scratching his quill on a roll of parchment as he writes a letter to his mum, his tongue poking out of his mouth in concentration. Sirius grins as he imagines the things he’s telling her - _yes Mum I’m keeping safe, no I have definitely not been poking about in the neighbours gardens to find Mandrake leaves to illegally harbour in my mouth for a month, yes I’m keeping up with my homework._

“Why don’t you do what I do, Pete?” Sirius asks loudly, making the other boy jump. 

“Sirius,” Peter groans. “You just made me smudge my writing.”

“Didn’t know it would make a difference,” Sirius says. It’s a fair point; Peter’s handwriting is notoriously illegible. 

Peter scowls but asks, “All right, Mr I-Lie-To-My-Mother-So-Easily. What do you do?”

Sirius saunters over to squint down at Peter’s letter, his hands on the back of Peter’s chair as he leans over his shoulder to read. 

“You’re telling her too much,” he says simply. “You know she’ll worry, and then you’ll never be allowed out for the summer again.”

“I’m not telling her anything!” Peter protests. “I’m not telling about when you threw me in the sea and nearly had me drowned, or when I got stuck up that tree for half a day before you wankers decided to let me down. I’m not telling her about -” here he lowers his voice, his eyes darting to where Remus is engaged in a game of chess with James at the table, “-about the Animagus thing.”

Absently, Sirius cuffs him on the back of the head and then ruffles his hair. “Oh, Peter. Just read this as if you are your mother. Getting a train to Tenby. Being at the seaside surrounded by Muggles. Camping. Innocent enough, but you know your mum will just see a hundred different ways her precious ickle baby boy could have been murdered.”

Peter blinks down at the letter. After a moment, he says, “You’re right. Can’t believe I didn’t see it,” and crumples the letter up, throwing it in the fire. “Reckon I should just do the standard ‘weather is lovely, can’t wait for school’?”

“Throw in that you’re missing her cooking,” Sirius says thoughtfully. “Bet she’ll love that.”

“You’re a genius,” Peter says, pulling a fresh sheet of parchment towards him.

“Crazy mother’s are my forte,” Sirius says with a shrug.

Peter laughs and Sirius throws him an easy grin, but there’s a nagging feeling in his stomach. It’s been reappearing for days now, every time he thinks about seeing his parents again. 

_Really_ , he thinks, slouching back down on the sofa, _what does Peter know about the hardships of family?_

As quickly as he thinks it, he answers himself: _You’re not being fair._

This knowledge doesn’t stop the stab of annoyance as he watches Peter roll up his finished letter and ask James if he can borrow Scout, James’ new owl. The owl his parents bought him two days ago in Diagon Alley. The owl he didn’t even have to ask for, his parents just gave it to him. 

_Stop it. You’re being pathetic._

Out of the corner of his eye Sirius can see Remus watching him, and he looks up defiantly. Remus doesn’t break eye contact, doesn’t even blink. Sirius is the first to look away in the end, scowling down at his shoes. 

He can feel a familiar itching in his veins, anger boiling just below the surface. More than anything he wants to be back at Hogwarts. The castle gives Sirius a sense of calm, something he doesn’t often have. Hogwarts is home, somewhere he belongs; staying with his mates is great, but Sirius can’t help the nagging sensation that they’re not his to have, to lay claim to; he’s an outsider, a house-guest, a suitcase perpetually half-full at the bottom of a spare bed. He’s sick of feeling like he’s imposing himself on James’ mum and dad, and Mr and Mrs Lupin are nice enough but they fuss too much. Sirius has noticed the way that Lyall hides the morning paper, as if the front page will upset Remus, and they’re always watching Remus with these nervous, cautious expressions that make Sirius want to bang their heads together.

(“Do they think you might break?” Sirius had asked Remus one evening. “I mean, do they not realise that you are, by design, pretty indestructible?”

Remus had half-smiled, shrugged. “They’ve always been this way.”)

Sirius isn’t used to it, the way that Peter’s mum constantly worries he’s not eating enough or that he’s been kidnapped every day she doesn’t hear from him; the way that James’ parents spoil him, not because they feel it’s their place to show outsiders that they have enough money, but because they actually want to treat him; the way that Remus’ parents want to protect him, to make sure he doesn’t have any more pain in life than he already has.

“You all right, Sirius?” James asks suddenly, looking up as one of Remus’ knights surges forward.

Sirius jerks his head up, and bites back a snappy reply. After all, it’s not their fault he’s feeling this way, and he won’t feel any better by taking his bad mood out on them.

“I’m fine,” he says, convincingly enough. “Mind your king, by the way.”

::

Things get a bit better when Uncle Alphard comes to collect him, and he gets to see Andromeda and Ted. Nymphadora has grown bigger, her hair alternating between blue and bright pink. He quickly learns that her favourite word is ‘no’ and she calls him ‘Suss’, grasping bits of his hair between her pudgy fingers. 

Despite the tiredness in their eyes, Sirius can tell that Ted and Andromeda are happier now. Nymphadora toddles around Uncle Alphard’s flat, Ted flicking Shield Charms up against the more expensive, more dangerous looking objects.

“Honestly, Sirius,” Andromeda sighs after chasing Nymphadora away from a glittering sword displayed on the wall. “She’s so clumsy on her feet; she’d probably break the most expensive thing and cost us a fortune.”

He feels more relaxed around Andromeda because he knows she gets it. She understands. Alphard is great, but he’s not been blasted off the family tapestry.

Alphard laughs into his glass of Firewhiskey. “Probably would be if anyone got wind you were here,” he says, inclining his head at Andromeda, who smiles ruefully. “Good thing that my other nieces don’t tend to drop in for social calls.”

“Anyway, you haven’t been taken off the tapestry,” Andromeda says briskly, looking at Sirius over Nymphadora’s head. “You’re only fourteen.”

"Fifteen in a couple of months. Probably about the right age for disowning. Anyway, what were _you_ doing at my age?”

Ted chuckles and Andromeda busies herself with shaking a rattle to distract Nymphadora’s attention, but she’s grinning when she answers. 

“Thinking of ways to tell my parents that I wouldn’t marry Lucius Malfoy.”

“I told mine that I won’t marry Cressida Carrow,” Sirius says gloomily, “and they haven’t really spoken to me since.”

Ted winks at him. “Well, in that case, if you do end up like your disgraced cousin here, you’ll be blissfully happy, eh?”

“Maybe,” Sirius mutters. “Sometimes I think -” _Of Regulus_ , he finishes silently, but doesn’t voice this. Instead, he says, “Oh, forget it. I’m just being stupid. Remus tells me I have a tendency for dramatics.”

“Stop worrying,” Andromeda says sternly. “I know it’s hard but you’re so young yet, Sirius. Look, you’ll see your parents tomorrow on the platform and the world will not end, I promise. Let’s enjoy our time together. I’ve been dying to see you and hear about your year. Now,” she says, tickling Nymphadora under the chin and making her giggle. “Tell me more about this Remus. He seems sensible. I think I’d like to meet him one day.”

::

It’s raining when they get to King’s Cross the following day, Sirius pushing his trolley laden with his school trunk and broomstick, ignoring the bemused looks of passing Muggles. He had wanted Ted and Andromeda to see him off, but as he knows his family will be there on the platform, he knows it’s for the best that they said goodbye to him at Uncle Alphard’s flat.

Alphard grins broadly when he sees the barrier between platforms 9 and 10. “Ah, this brings back memories.”

“You know, you don’t have to see me on to the platform,” Sirius tells him. “I’ll be all right from here.”

“I told your mother I’d deliver you to her,” his uncle says, shaking his head apologetically. “She made me promise.”

“I’ll bet she did,” Sirius grumbles. 

They go through the barrier at a steady jog, and it doesn’t take long for Sirius to spot his parents and brother through the steam of the Hogwarts Express. Regulus has a broomstick slung over his shoulder, the bristles of which are nearly poking him in the eye as he’s bent down, fiddling with the straps of his schoolbag. As Sirius approaches, Regulus sees Sirius’ shoes first, the Muggle trainers Sirius brought in a shop over the summer, and Regulus looks up slowly until he meets his brother’s gaze.

Sirius does his best to grin, avoiding looking at his parents. “Hey, Reg. Good summer?”

Regulus straightens up, nods once. “Yes, thank you,” he says, his voice clipped and curt. 

“Sirius,” his mother says, offering her cheek to Sirius to kiss, which he does dutifully and quickly before turning to shake his father’s hand. “I trust your own summer was - educational?” she asks, her gaze flicking briefly over to Alphard, one eyebrow raised mockingly.

“Oh, yes,” Sirius answers enthusiastically. “Uncle Alphard was a simply marvelous host.”

Uncle Alphard’s lips quirk behind his beard. Walburga clearly can’t decide whether she’s being made fun of or not, so she settles on making a dismissive noise in the back of her throat disguised as a cough. The train whistle sounds a piercing warning and he smiles as genuinely as he can at his mother, all the while resisting the urge to imagine her falling under the train.

“Well, see you soon, Mother. Father. Thank you again for this summer, Uncle Alphard.”

Alphard’s eyes are twinkling. “Any time, lad.”

“Perhaps we’ll see you over the Christmas holidays?” his mother says as they haul their luggage on first.

“Maybe,” Sirius says airily, turning with one hand on the train door. “I mean, I’ll be pretty busy - last year before O.W.Ls and all that. I imagine I’ll be far too busy studying to tear myself away.”

Regulus snorts and says, “ _I’ll be_ back, Mother.”

“Only because you miss that stinking elf too much to be away for long,” Sirius mutters in his brother’s ear, jumping on to the train just in time to avoid Regulus’ elbow coming his way.

He stores his trunk away as Regulus says goodbye to their parents on the platform and by the time Sirius has finished, the train is starting to pull steadily away from Platform 9 and 3/4. Regulus turns away from the window where he’d been waving to Mother and Father and for a moment the two brothers stare at each other. 

Sirius wants to ask Regulus how his summer had been, how it was staying at Narcissa’s and if it’s true that Lucius allows those ridiculous peacocks inside the house. He wants to ask what model broom his brother got, what electives he’s taken this year now he’s in Third. Before he can think of the words, a compartment door opens and Barty Crouch appears. He’s grown a bit over the summer, but his face has gotten thinner, and he still has a sickly, weedy look about him. 

Barty nods at him. “Sirius,” he says cordially. And then, turning his full attention to Regulus, “Good to see you, Regulus. Aegir, Evan and I have saved you a seat.”

Regulus half looks back at Sirius, but doesn’t meet his eye. “Well, see you,” he mumbles, and then follows Barty into the next carriage, leaving Sirius standing by himself on the Hogwarts Express for the first time ever. 

Sirius finds a seat in a carriage with two Second Years who shoot him worried looks as he settles himself down. They scoot themselves away from him and Sirius resists the urge to shout ‘boo.’ The grey mass of London has disappeared by the time the compartment door slides open and James sticks his head in, frowning.

“What do you think you’re doing, skulking about in here?” he demands incredulously. Behind him, Sirius can see Remus and Peter swapping bemused looks. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you. Come on, you daft prat, stop scaring the children and come sit with us.”

“Why’d you not come find us?” Peter asks, back in their own compartment. He chucks Sirius a Chocolate Frog. “You missed the gossip. Frank got Head Boy.”

“Alice Head Girl then?” Sirius guesses, shoving the chocolate in his mouth. He’d not realised how hungry he was until now.

“Nah,” James says, grinning. “Frank says it’s best not to mention it to her. She’s a bit sensitive about it.”

“They gave it to Winifred Quirke,” Remus tells him.

“A Slytherin?”

“Yeah,” James says, nodding. “I think it’s a sort of - experiment, on Dumbledore’s part. You know, trying to improve Slytherin-Gryffindor relations a bit. Frank says Winifred is all right, but Alice is a bit put out by all accounts.”

Sirius laughs, flicking his Chocolate Frog card to Peter, who collects them and probably has enough of Merlin’s face to wallpaper both his parents houses by now. He’s feeling better now, as if a massive weight has been lifted from his shoulders. He faced his parents, and the world didn’t end - exactly as Andromeda said. 

After they’ve finished off all the chocolate and sweets, Remus gets up and excuses himself to the toilet. He’s barely out of the door before James leans forward eagerly.

“So, Pete and I were talking yesterday about, y’know, the mandrake leaves. Sprout will be doing them with her Second Years, won’t she? Pete reckons he can swipe some.”

“Sprout likes me,” Peter says. “It’s easy enough to pretend to be hanging about for some extra help, and when she’s not looking…” he trails off with a grin.

“She wouldn’t like you half as much if she knew how much of her supplies you nicked,” Sirius says, but he laughs. “This is brilliant. We’re actually doing it!”

“It’s still going to take a while,” James tells him seriously. “I reckon we’ll be extremely lucky if we get it done this year. I’m thinking we’ll have it cracked by Fifth.”

Sirius groans. That’s another whole year that Remus is suffering, twelve nights where he’s all on his own -

“I know it’s a long time,” Peter says, his round face sympathetic, “but it’ll be worth it all in the end, right?”

“There’s no point rushing it and cocking it up,” James says sternly. “If we make any mistakes and all kill ourselves, we’ll be no help to Moony at all.”

“Okay, fine. So - the mandrake leaves. When are you thinking?”

James turns to look at the door, but the corridor outside looks deserted. He says, speaking quickly now, “Over the Christmas holidays. The leaves will have just started to bud properly, apparently that’s when they’re the most potent. So if Remus goes home for Christmas, we’ll have two whole weeks by ourselves, and hopefully he won’t notice for the other two.”

Sirius raises an eyebrow. “Won’t notice? James, we’ll be stinking of mandrake leaves.”

“We’ll think of something,” James says, waving a hand. 

Sirius isn’t convinced, but Remus comes back at that moment, stopping any further conversation. He sits down next to Sirius, who smiles at him and flings an arm around his shoulders.

Remus frowns. “I only went to the toilet.”

“Whatever,” Sirius says happily, squeezing Remus’ skinny shoulders affectionately. “Missed you.”

“Okay,” Remus says slowly. “No more Chocolate Frogs for you.”

Sirius laughs, the sound filling the carriage, all worries about his parents and brother forgotten now. He’s back with his friends, going back to Hogwarts, and now he’s safe in the knowledge that he’s definitely not going back to Grimmauld Place for Christmas, no matter what his mother says.

::

The rain hasn’t stopped the whole time they’ve been on the train. Lily looks at the window, at the water droplets smearing the view of the fields outside, and she pulls a face imagining what it must be like at Hogwarts. She thinks of the rain pounding the surface of the lake, of the boat ride the First Years will have to take, and fervently thanks whatever deity is available that she’s not doing the journey herself. The fires will be lit in the Gryffindor common room, her bed will be ridiculously comfortable and snug as always, and soon she’ll be getting into it after eating a mountain of treacle tart. Perfect.

She smiles, a happy hum escaping from her lips. Beside her, Mary shoots her a puzzled look.

“You’re happy about this, are you?” she demands.

Lily blinks. “What?”

“Were you even listening?”

“Er - no.”

Mary sighs. “We were talking about the new Head Girl. Winifred Quirke.”

“Oh, right,” Lily says, nonplussed. “Er…what about her?”

“She’s a Slytherin!” Mary says meaningfully, but whatever the meaning is, it’s lost on Lily.

“Mary is a bit put out,” Dorcas offers helpfully from behind her book.

“Put out! Of course I’m put out, Dor, they’re awful!”

“Hey,” Lily says reflexively. “Not all of them.”

Mary rolls her eyes. “Fine, fine, not all of them, true. But Winifred Quirke helped out in the library last year, and she gave me such a telling off for bending the spine of one of the books, and she took ten points!”

“I would have probably done the same,” Dorcas admits, one hand stroking the back of her own book.

“Ten points,” Mary stresses, the unfairness still clearly troubling her, “for a book.” When she sees her friends are not convinced, she sighs. “I’m not saying it should have been a Gryffindor - I mean, Hestia Jones would have been a better choice, you know, from Hufflepuff?”

“You don’t know, Winifred might be all right,” Lily says. “Emmeline ran a tight ship, and from what you’re saying, this Winifred is made from the same stuff.”

“And hopefully Potter and his lot will listen to Frank,” Dorcas says. “Who knows, we might even have a quiet year!”

Lily snorts. “Hardly likely.”

Confirming Lily’s fears, the rain seems to speed up the further north they travel. The countryside outside is barely visible through all the rain slapping itself against the windows and Lily finds she has to raise her voice to be heard over the cacophony of raindrops hammering down on the train. It’s getting colder too, and Lily changes into her school robes early, keeping her jumper on underneath for extra warmth. Dorcas goes to get them all a hot drink from the trolley, and returns ten minutes later looking extremely disgruntled.

“What’s up?” Lily asks, reaching for her tea eagerly. 

“I saw Amber McCroy when I was getting these, and she just blanked me completely! I asked her how her summer was, and she acted like I wasn’t even there.”

“That’s rude,” Mary says. “I always thought Amber was all right.”

Dorcas sits back down, and hands pumpkin pasties around, still frowning. Lily cups both hands around her tea, savouring the warmth, and shoots her friend an apologetic look.

“It’s probably because of Benjy and me,” she says. “She’s from Ravenclaw, isn’t she, she probably thinks I’m some sort of evil Gryffindor ex-girlfriend and me and all my friends should be shunned.”

“She should be pleased you ditched him!” Mary says fervently. “I mean, what a creep, saying those things about Severus in front of you when he knows you’re friends.”

Lily raises her eyebrows. “Mary, you tell me Sev isn’t worth my time about a hundred times a week.”

“Well, I’m your best friend and have your best interests at heart,” Mary says. “Benjy was probably just jealous. Bit pathetic, really.”

“Either way,” Dorcas interrupts, before Lily can retort (she’s dying to say something about the luxuries of being able to choose her own friends), “at least now you’ll have more time to focus on your school work!”

“Hurray,” Lily says flatly.

“It’s last year before O.W.Ls,” Dorcas says, giving Lily a stern look over her tea. “My cousin says it’s hard work. Plus, you’ll need no distractions for when you become Prefect next year.”

“Then on to the best Head Girl this century.” Mary grins. “Better than bloody Winifred Quirke.”

Lily chucks a pumpkin pasty at her head, feeling suddenly warm. “Oh, shut up.”

::

Severus turns a page of _Dark Arts Through the Dark Ages_ , a second-hand book he’d picked up in a dusty looking shop halfway down Knockturn Alley. It had been his first time in the Alley, his mother having sent him shopping for school supplies by himself, and he’d not wanted to leave without a souvenir, something to show everyone back at school. The book is a bit hard going, the author far too long-winded, but the spells are interesting enough.

Joseph turns away from the drizzle-soaked window and eyes the book with a slight sneer. “Still reading that?” he says. “Do the spells even work, Severus?”

“They might do,” Severus says quietly. “If someone had the patience to re-work them.”

“You, you mean?” Joseph asks, and laughs. “You have far too much time on your hands, my friend. You need a girl.”

Severus ignores the jibe, bookmarks a page on the Confodereturus Curse, complete with crudely drawn images of men and women in various stages of impalement, and slides the book into his bag. 

“I have no time for girls,” he says.

“Gotten shot of Evans, have you?” Joseph asks, leaning forward with a pleased smirk on his face. “Finally!”

“We’re - not really talking, no,” Severus mutters.

It’s the first year that Lily hasn’t sat with him on the train to school for at least a part of the journey. At first he had thought it might be because of the business with Fenwick, but Severus knows that Lily wouldn’t let him get away with that if she knew - she’d sooner string him up by his bootlaces than ignore him, after all. Well, Severus isn’t going to go looking for her. She’s probably with those screeching, idiotic friends of hers anyway.

The door to their compartment slides open, and Barty Crouch stands in the doorway. “Hullo, Severus, Joseph. Good summer?” Without waiting for a reply (which is a good thing, Severus thinks, because he really hadn’t had a good summer), Barty continues, “Come and sit with us. Wait until you hear about Regulus’ holiday!”

::

Ten minutes later, in a compartment with Joseph, Regulus, Barty, Aegir Wilkes and Evan Rosier, four of the boys are staring at Regulus, open-mouthed in awe after he’s finished telling his tale.

Severus, however, wrinkles his nose and says, “The Death Eaters is a bit of a stupid name, don’t you think?”

Regulus’ cheeks, already flushed as he had been telling them all about the leaflet and Edmund Nott, go a deeper scarlet. “It is not!” he says hotly. “It’s _symbolic._ ”

Aegir and Evan nod fervently. Barty shoots Severus a disgusted look, and Joseph rolls his eyes. 

Severus merely raises his eyebrows. “And you think they’d take you - a thirteen year old?”

“A thirteen year old Black, Snape, remember that!” Evan snarls, as Regulus splutters indignantly. 

Severus sighs. _Gods, but Purebloods are touchy about second names._

“Gentlemen,” Aegir chides lazily. “Let’s not be divided on this, for Merlin’s sake. They’d probably have all of us, once we’re of age. Probably even you, Severus, despite everything.”

“Despite what?” Severus demands.

“Well,” Aegir says slowly, deliberately. “Let’s see. Leaving the half-blood thing aside, there is the matter of that Mudblood you hang out with -”

“Don’t call -” Severus starts, but Joseph elbows him.

“Oh, Severus doesn’t have anything to do with her anymore,” he says. “Anyway, let’s not even think on that business. Carry on, Regulus - you really think they’d take us all on?”

Now that everyone is back to being focused on him, Regulus regains some of his composure. He nods importantly. 

“Of course.”

“It would be cool, wouldn’t it,” Barty says wistfully. “A real chance to prove ourselves.”

“Your cousin - you say she’s seen Him?” Aegir asks Regulus eagerly.

“Bellatrix and Narcissa have,” Regulus says proudly. “I’m sure they’ll introduce me when the time is right.”

Barty laughs, punches Regulus on the shoulder jovially. “Hey, won’t that show your brother!”

Severus looks out of the window, half-wishing he could go back to his book. It would be more interesting than talking about Sirius sodding Black.

“Especially if you get on the Quidditch team,” Evan says. 

“Of course he will!” Barty says excitedly. “I’m telling you, this year is Slytherin’s year, boys - it’s going to be amazing!”


	35. the two seekers.

_September 1974._

The rain doesn’t stop for weeks, or so it seems to James. If the sun does exist, it hides behind a dense fog of cloud most times; James is beginning to suspect it’s just a myth, something his brain made up long ago. It’s not so bad in Gryffindor Tower, when lounging by the fire in the common room or laying in his four-poster and listening to the wind howl outside is sort of comforting. Lessons, however, are something different entirely. 

They stand as close together as possible in Herbology, the rain lashing against the glass of the greenhouses and making Peter drop his shears in fright the first time thunder rumbles ominously in the distance. Potions is awful, too, down in the cold and dank of the dungeons. Slughorn has them brewing Warming Draughts; designed, he tells them, by wizards and witches who live high in the mountains in horrible conditions. To everyone’s immense relief, Care of Magical Creatures is relocated to indoor, theoretical lessons; and James is having to cast the Impervius Charm on his glasses every time he has to go outside.

The thought of Quidditch practice in these conditions doesn’t fill him with enthusiasm, but they’ve got try-outs the second week back. Their Seeker, Cassie, graduated last year, and personally James thinks they’re going to have a hard time finding a better replacement. Maybe it’s the rain, but the bunch that turn up hopefully clutching their brooms look a soggy lot.

“What do you reckon?” James murmurs to Sirius, as Adric Vane, their Captain, circles the bunch of newbies like a hawk.

“I think the only thing this lot will catch is a cold,” Sirius replies. 

As if on cue, one of the boys in line sneezes, and James sighs, visions of Gryffindor winning the Quidditch Cup this year vanishing.

Splashing noises sound from behind them all as someone runs up the muddy pitch to join them. It’s a small boy, leaning on a battered looking school broom, bent over as he struggles to catch his breath. James rolls his eyes impatiently. In his opinion, if you can’t be bothered to show up on time for Quidditch, you shouldn’t bother to show up at all.

“Sorry’m late,” the boy says, raising his head, and James blinks in surprise. 

It’s Alfie McKinnon.

“Oh, Merlin,” Sirius mutters, and James knows he’s thinking back to last year, when they’d shoved Alfie into that hole in the wall. 

Adric starts barking orders, telling everyone to spread out. Sirius and James move back, still close enough to each other to be heard over the roaring of the wind. 

James smirks, catching Sirius’ eye. “Well, at least he’s got the small build.”

Sirius scoffs. “Small build? Looks like a strong breeze would blow him off his broom. And what is that thing?” he asks, eyeing the broom Alfie is holding with great disdain.

“One of the older Comet models,” James says. “Looks like it’s got a broken tail end.”

“Black - Potter - if you’re quite finished, we’ve got work to do!” 

“Sorry, Adric,” they chorus.

James swings one leg over his broom and kicks off from the ground with a squelching sound. The rain blurs his vision immediately, and the wind is bitingly cold as it whips through his hair. On the pitch he can see Adric releasing the balls from their box, and he feels more than sees a bludger whistle by his ear. He squints through the rain, trying to find Alfie. Marlene will be furious if her little brother gets murdered by a bludger, he thinks mournfully. He can’t see the younger boy anywhere, though, and James pauses for a moment mid-air, frowning, until something gold flashes by his line of vision, followed by an equally blurry, just as fast figure on a broom.

“Hiya, James!” the voice calls excitedly, before they carry on their frenzied pursuit of the Snitch.

“Close your mouth, Potter, and _play_ ,” Adric growls as he flies past. “That McKinnon lad is doing better than you.”

_Yes,_ James thinks, clamping his lips together and leaning forward on his broom, zooming closer to the action as Alfie outstretches a hand towards the Snitch, a look of grim determination on his face. _He really is._

The try-outs only last for half an hour; Adric calls it off early when Rachel nearly falls off her broom following a flash of lightening overhead. The team and five hopefuls land with a splatter of mud back down on the pitch, and Alfie McKinnon beams through the dirt caked on his face as Adric announces he’s made Seeker. James claps him on the back as Rachel and Meredith hug him. 

The rest of the team remains the same. Rachel, James and Richie Dennison as Chasers, Sirius and Meredith as Beaters and Adric as Keeper. Alfie looks tiny in comparison to them all, and the Quidditch jersey that Adric bestows on Alfie has to be rolled up three times at the sleeves before it doesn’t drown him. Still, James can’t help but feel a lot more hopeful about their chances of winning the Cup with the addition of Alfie on the team and he joins the rest of them on the way to the changing rooms with a renewed spring in his step.

James and Sirius are just rounding the corner, the changing rooms ahead of them looking warm and inviting compared to the current downpour, when James finds himself with a broomstick suddenly in his face, the bristles thwacking him in the glasses, and he staggers backwards. 

“Oi,” he says loudly, rubbing a hand over his face to check the damage and glaring at whoever has just bumped into him. 

“Watch it, you clumsy -” Sirius begins, and then falters, trails off. 

Regulus is in front of them, holding his broom protectively and scowling right back up at them. 

“Maybe you two should watch where _you’re_ going,” he snaps.

He’s wearing a spare set of Slytherin Quidditch robes, his black hair flattened on his head with the rain. James casts a curious look at the broom he’s holding; it’s clearly brand new, the handle gleaming even in this rubbish light, and the bristles, despite the encounter with his face, are perfectly formed and trimmed. James fights back the urge to ask to hold it.

“You’re on the Quidditch team?” James asks.

“I’m trying out,” Regulus says. “Did my brother not mention?”

“I have better things to talk about,” Sirius says nonchalantly. “Let’s go, James. We’ve got to celebrate our new Seeker, after all.”

A few steps away from Regulus, James cranes his neck to see him hurrying down on to the pitch. Sirius is marching determinedly towards the changing rooms, and doesn’t bother to turn around.

“Don’t you want to watch him?” James asks.

“No.”

“Yeah, but - I mean…tactics…see what the competition is. Is he any good?”

“I have no idea,” Sirius says shortly. “Mother never let us play much as children. Come on, I’m bloody freezing out here.”

James knows better than to push it. He changes the subject, and instead starts talking about the speed at which Alfie had managed to catch the Snitch. At last Sirius grins, and by the time they’re changed and ready to head back to the castle, he’s lost the hunch to his shoulders and looks a lot more like his usual self. 

The rest of the team leave the changing rooms first, Alfie sandwiched happily between Richie and Meredith. Adric pauses at the door, looks back at James and Sirius. James is running a towel through his sopping hair, and Sirius is tying his shoelaces.

“Hurry up, you two. I’m relying on you to get some celebratory food from the kitchens.”

“You go ahead,” Sirius says to James. “I just need to pack up the rest of my stuff.”

“I’ll wait for you,” James says, shrugging off his bag full of his Quidditch gear and sitting down on the bench.

“I think I’ve lost my bat somewhere,” Sirius says vaguely, glancing around.

“You better not have,” Adric warns.

James looks around the changing room. “We’ll find it quicker with both of us.”

Sirius shoos him away with his hand. “Go on, I’ll catch up. I may have left it on the pitch actually.”

“Oh, Sirius,” James groans. “It’s pissing it down!”

“I’ll be as quick as I can,” Sirius promises. “Get some butterbeer as well, yeah?”

James sighs, hitching his bag on his shoulder again and shooting Sirius a weary look. “Fine. But don’t be too long, or you’ll miss Marlene’s speech about how we’re a bad influence on her brother.”

::

Marlene throws her head right back as she laughs at James’ recount of the Quidditch try-outs.

“Yeah,” she says, grinning. “I might have forgot to mention that Alfie is pretty good.”

Wedged between them on the sofa, clutching a bottle of butterbeer in one hand and a slice of cake in another, Alfie grins. 

“He’s more than pretty good,” James says, whose mood has only improved now that he’s in the warm and the dry and has a belly full of food. “I reckon we can win the Cup with the team we have now.”

“Well, let’s hope so,” Frank says from his place in the armchair. “I lost three Galleons to Caradoc Dearborn last year after we lost to Hufflepuff. I’d like to get it back at some point.”

“Ah, just threaten him with detention and get your money back,” James says with a grin.

“I think that might be a slight abuse of power.”

“So honourable, Frank,” James says. “Or do we call you Your Headship now?”

“I’d really rather you didn’t,” Frank mutters, his ears turning pink. He glances at Alice, who is sat nearby, but she leans closer to the parchment she’s writing on and doesn’t look up.

“Well, I think it’s brilliant, you being Head Boy,” Rachel insists.

“Yeah, don’t listen to James,” says Peter. “Hey - does this mean you’ll let us get away with pranks?”

“Don’t count on it,” Frank says, his hand going automatically to his badge and touching it, once, as if to assure himself it’s still there. “If you lot are anything to go by, it just means a lot of bloody hard work. I haven’t forgotten the flooded Charms classroom.”

“Ah, Frank,” James says earnestly. “Would we put you through hardship?”

Behind him, James hears a disbelieving scoff, and he turns his head slightly in time to see an unmistakable shade of red hair, and doesn’t have to look properly to know who made that noise. 

“You all right over there, Evans?” he asks loudly. “Do you need a sip of butterbeer to help you clear your throat?”

“I’m fine, thanks,” Evans replies. “I don’t know what you put in it.”

“Oh, Evans, your mistrust kills me,” James says, laying a hand across his chest as if wounded. 

Remus whacks him on the arm. “Leave her alone,” he says quietly.

“What? She started it, implying that I’d give my buddy Frank a hard time. As if I would! I am shocked at the insinuation. Shocked and hurt. Shockingly hurt.”

Remus rolls his eyes and goes back to reading the Evening Prophet, but every so often his gaze flicks up to the portrait hole, and James knows what he’s looking for. Sirius still hasn’t come back, and it’s been ages now. The wind and rain outside has picked up, and James will be surprised if a full-blown storm doesn’t roll in overnight. 

He’s just thinking that perhaps he better go and fetch him, when the portrait hole swings open and a very wet, very grumpy looking Sirius enters the common room.

For a moment everyone stares at Sirius as he stands, dripping on the floor, and then Peter, voicing what they’re all most likely thinking, demands, “What the bloody hell happened to you?”

Sirius grunts an incoherent reply and shakes his head like a dog, sending water droplets in every direction. James is pleased to note that Sirius’ aim is perfect, spraying Evans and her friends. 

“Bad news,” Sirius announces, “is that my brother got Seeker.” Remus lowers the paper, watching Sirius intently. Sirius’ gaze finds Alfie, and James is relieved when a small smile appears on his face as he continues, “Good news is that he’s nowhere near as good as you, Alfie.”

“See,” James says, nudging Alfie in the side. “We’ve got this in the bag!”

::

Sirius doesn’t stay long in the common room, despite James trying to force a drink on him and demand more details of what he saw at the Slytherin try-outs. Sirius shrugs him off, saying he’s going to get an early night, and Remus waits until Peter has finished his game of Gobstones against Richie Dennison (something he knows won’t take very long, with Peter’s track record) before yawning loudly and obviously and heading up the the dormitory himself.

He opens the door just as Sirius is pulling off his soaked robes, dropping them in a sodden pile on the floor at the foot of his bed. He’s wearing a red t-shirt underneath, and it’s stuck in places to his chest, and for a moment Remus just stares stupidly before finding his voice.

“The house-elves must hate you,” he says.

Sirius turns, startled, and then relaxes when he sees it’s just Remus. “Oh, they love a bit of laundry,” he says. “What are you doing up here?”

“Celebrating Quidditch isn’t really me,” Remus says with a small shrug.

He hands Sirius a towel that’s hung up on the back of the door. It’s Peter’s, but Remus is uncomfortably aware that Sirius is still dripping on the carpet, and he can’t have that. Sirius takes it without question and bends down, vigorously rubbing his hair. He’s still in just his boxers and his t-shirt, and Remus wonders vaguely if he should get him a dressing gown as well.

“I thought it was you, though,” Remus continues, still stood at the door. He looks up at the ceiling. “Celebrating Quidditch, I mean. You’re on the team, after all, and the rest of them are all down there without you, so I thought I’d come up here and see if you were okay, because it’s quite a big deal, isn’t it, new Seeker and all that, big news, and your brother as well, if you wanted to talk about it -”

Sirius pulls the towel off his head and blinks at Remus. “I didn’t hear a word you just said.”

“Probably a good thing,” Remus mutters. Then, louder, he says, “I just wondered if you were okay, that’s all.”

“I’m fine,” Sirius says, throwing the towel down in the pile of robes. Remus unconsciously clenches his hand into a fist. “You don’t need to check up on me.”

Thankfully, Sirius rummages about in his trunk and pulls out a pair of pyjamas. He pulls on the bottoms and then sits on the bed, staring at Remus. Dimly, Remus realises that that was his dismissal, his cue to leave Sirius up here to brood. 

Remus thinks he must be stupid, because he stays. “Do you want to talk about - about Regulus, or -?”

“Why would I want to talk about Regulus?” Sirius asks. 

“Well, you said it was bad news, him being on the team. But is it? I mean, now you’ve got this in common, and I thought -”

“Thought what?” Sirius interrupts. His eyes are stormy, and Remus realises too late he should have taken his cue. “Thought that we could, I dunno, bond over Quidditch tactics? Fuck off, Moony. It’s not that simple.”

“You stayed to watch him fly,” Remus says quietly, because now he’s come this far he may as well go all-out. 

Sirius’ laugh is harsh, hardly a laugh at all. “Do you know, my mother never let me try out for the team. She nearly broke my broom in half when she found out I bought it. 'Ungentlemanly,' she called it. 'A ridiculous waste of time and energy.' She made me study the constellations, learn the histories of the Sacred 28 off by heart, learn French and Latin, learn how to fucking _ballroom dance_ , and yet she thinks that Quidditch is a waste of time. So - so maybe I am a bit pissed off, all right, that as soon as Regulus wants to do it, it’s suddenly okay.”

“Maybe it means she’s mellowing out,” Remus suggests.

Sirius glares up at him, and Remus registers in the back of his mind that he’s backed up so that his back is pressing uncomfortably into the door handle, but he doesn’t move.

“I don’t even care,” Sirius says. “She’s made it pretty clear she doesn’t. It’s obvious what’s happening, innit? And that’s fine - if she wants to make Regulus the heir, she can. I’ll be pleased. It will give me a chance to get out of that fucking house once and for all.”

“You don’t mean that,” Remus says helplessly.

He’s floundering, and he knows it. What does he know of heirs and families like Sirius’? _You’re an idiot,_ he berates himself. _You shouldn’t have followed him, you should have left him to it, or left him for James. James always knows what to do._

“I do,” Sirius says, clambering into bed. “And do you know something else? Regulus isn’t even that fucking good. He nearly flew into a fucking _tree_.”

He flicks his wand at the curtains of his bed, and they draw themselves tightly together, shutting off Remus’ view of Sirius. Remus sags against the door, exhaling a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding. 

“Well, Lupin,” he mutters to himself, turning around and opening the door. A cacophony of noise greets him from down in the common room where the celebrations are still in full swing. “That went _fantastically_ well.”


	36. practice makes perfect.

_September 1974._

The storm does come and in a way it’s a relief when it does break and finally blows itself out. The same cannot be said, however, for Sirius’ mood, which persists like a gloomy cloud for another week. 

Even the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher - something that usually leads to Sirius placing loud and obnoxious bets on how long they’ll last, and how they’ll leave - doesn’t lift his spirit. Professor Graves is a short, smartly-dressed black woman, her deeply lined face and weary looking eyes hinting that she’s more than qualified for the job. Remus likes her instantly, especially as she tells them about her time spent teaching at the Jamaican School of Sorcery. It’s fascinating, hearing about wizarding life in other countries and cultures, but when Remus glances at Sirius, he hardly seems to be listening.

James and Sirius are practicing Quidditch relentlessly now that they have their dream team; James, buoyed up by their new Seeker, but all Sirius goes on about is beating Slytherin.

“Don’t you have to beat the other two teams as well, Sirius?” Peter says to him one night, after Sirius returns to the common room windswept and muddy, boasting loudly about how he’s going to knock the Slytherin’s off their brooms.

Sirius glowers, and doesn’t speak to any of them for the whole of the following day.

In a way, Remus does admire their commitment, even if Sirius’ does seem to be coming from the wrong side of competitive spirit. They’re training in all weathers (”it’s not madness, Moony, it’s to get used to all conditions,” James tells him cheerfully, after they come back from one practice with the hoods of their robes full of hailstones) and to Remus’ surprise, more Gryffindors than ever before turn up to watch them practice.

“I think everyone thinks Alfie is a cute little mascot,” Marlene says, her voice rich with amusement. 

It’s early on Saturday morning, and she’s joined Remus and Peter in the stands to watch Gryffindor train, but she’s not the only one. Two rows above them are Lily, Mary and Dorcas; Lily and Dorcas seem more intent on doing their homework in the struggling September sun, but Mary is decked out in full Gryffindor regalia and is even waving a small red and gold flag.

“She fancies Richie Dennison,” Peter supplies, when Remus turns to him with a puzzled look. “Moira told me last year.”

It doesn’t take long for Remus to see it for himself. James passes the Quaffle to Richie, who throws it easily into the middle hoop. Down in the stands, Remus thinks his ears might be bleeding when Mary starts screaming excitedly. 

“Good grief,” Remus mutters, massaging his ears. 

The team, however, seem pleased at the attention. Noticing them, Richie blushes so that he’s matching his robes but sits up straighter on his broom, his head held high, and does a celebratory lap of the pitch. James is acting very odd, too; it’s not a particularly windy day, but his hair seems messier than ever, and it’s only when Remus catches him in the act that he realises that James is taking any opportunity that he’s not holding the Quaffle to muss his hair up. Rachel passes him the Quaffle, and James goes into some sort of dive to try and retrieve it, even though it looked a pretty easy pass from where Remus is sat.

“Does Potter think he’s being subtle?” Marlene asks. “Evans isn’t even looking at him.”

“What?” Peter says, whipping his head so fast to look at her, Remus is surprised he doesn’t do himself injury. “James doesn’t like Evans. Does he, Remus?”

Remus thinks of all the teasing, the complaining that James does about Lily. But then, there’s also the fact that his friend has been getting a lot louder, a lot more stupid in her presence lately, and there’s no denying his growing interest in girls. He looks at Lily as surreptitiously as possible; her parchment is on one of the seats and she’s leaning forward to write on it, a sheet of dark red hair falling across the side of her face, blocking her mostly from view. It’s true that she’s not paying much attention to what is happening in the air, but then Remus notices how that doesn’t deter James at all, and he does a roll mid-air for absolutely no reason at all and, quick as a flash, his gaze darts to Lily. 

_Aha,_ Remus thinks. _Gotcha._

He stares at James, a knowing smirk pulling at his lips, and James, realising he’s been caught, flies off to the other end of the pitch rather hurriedly.

“Is this Quidditch practice,” Remus grumbles, “or some sort of mating ritual?”

“I think it’s called being fifteen, bucko,” Marlene says, patting him on the head. Then, her grin turning sly, “Although, I must say, Meredith Oliphant is looking _good_ in this light.”

“Marlene!” Remus says, and Marlene cackles.

“Just an observation.”

“Good grief,” Remus says again.

::

“Lily. Lily, he’s doing it again.”

Lily concentrates on finishing her paragraph on the properties of salamander scales and their usefulness in brewing Warming Draughts, even though it’s becoming increasingly difficult with Mary waving her hand impatiently in her face, trying to get her attention. Lily determinedly finishes what she’s writing, makes sure her punctation is correct, and by the time she does look up, Mary looks set to fall off her seat in excitement.

“Is this about how Richie scored another goal?” Lily asks in a bored voice. “Because he’s a Chaser, and - although my knowledge is limited - isn’t that what they’re supposed to do?”

“I’m not talking about Richie,” Mary says. “Although, for your information, yes he did. I mean Potter. He keeps looking at you.”

“Oh God, why? Do I have something on my head? He put something there, didn’t he?”

“No, you idiot. He likes you,” Mary says matter-of-factly.

Lily looks from Dorcas’ nonplussed expression, to Mary’s smug one, and then bursts out laughing. The sound makes Pettigrew, seated in front of them, jump and shoot them a nervy look. Lily shakes her head, still chucking.

“Mary, you are way off with that one.”

“Am I? Then why does he keep showing off?”

“Because he’s James Potter! That’s what he does!”

“Showing off and _looking at you,_ ” Mary adds, raising her eyebrows.

“You’re ridiculous,” Lily says. She looks at Dorcas. “Dor, back me up on this.”

Dorcas, however, just shrugs and pushes her glasses up her nose with one finger. “I suppose,” she says, glancing up at the sky to where Potter is racing Meredith for the Quaffle, “it is a possibility.”

Lily feels her smile falter and the beginnings of irritation. “Well, you could say that about anything,” she argues. “It’s a possibility that the whole universe will implode in the next thirty seconds, but I’d still take my chances.”

Mary doesn’t say anything else. She gives Lily an almost pitying look and rummages in her pockets, pulling out a packet of Drooble’s Best Blowing Gum. She offers a stick to Dorcas, who takes one, and Lily, who doesn’t, and then resumes her steadfast watching of Richie Dennison. 

Irked by the whole conversation, and determined to look anywhere but at where the Gryffindor team are, Lily re-reads her essay for the second time, staring at it until the words blur together. Finally, she hears Mary’s disappointed sigh that lets her know that Quidditch practice is over.

“Let’s get some lunch,” Dorcas is saying. “And then can we go to the library? I still have my Arithmancy homework to finish, and I swear I have no clue what Professor Hailey is talking about half the time.”

In front of them, Remus turns around to face them. “I have some notes, if you want to borrow them,” he offers.

“He has hearing like a bat,” Mary whispers to Lily, who rolls her eyes.

Dorcas beams. “That’d be really nice of you, Remus. Thanks.”

They end up leaving the stands together, joining up with Remus, Peter and Marlene. Lily groans to herself as she realises the other three are slowing down, heading in the direction of the pitch, presumably to meet up with Black, Potter and Alfie. Mary’s smile is nearly ear-to-ear; Lily can’t help but feel vaguely sorry for Richie, who is currently helping Adric Vane wrestle the balls back into the box, and has no idea of the fate that is coming his way. 

Lily tries to get Dorcas or Mary’s attention, to signal to them that she wants to go another way (she really, really does not want to face Potter at the moment) but Dorcas is engaged in conversation with Remus, and Mary wouldn’t turn back from Richie Dennison unless the pitch was on fire. 

Potter is stood to one side with Black, laughing at something the other boy is saying to him. He’s leaning on his broomstick, and raises his hand in greeting when he sees the group approaching. He spots Lily in the middle, and he starts to grin, slowly, and Lily can just imagine the stupid remark that he’s about to come out with, when he never gets a chance. There’s a commotion of noise nearby and Lily turns to see a mass of blue and bronze descending on to the pitch. 

_Oh, God,_ she thinks, quickly clocking Benjy in the centre of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team, his Captain badge looking especially polished. 

“Hold on, Fenwick,” Adric says bossily, getting to his feet and striding out to meet Benjy. “You could at least get your team to wait until mine are off the pitch.”

Liam Boot grins. “Why, Vane? Scared we’re going to steal your tactics - how to put the balls away in an orderly fashion?”

“They don’t have anything we’d want to see anyway,” pipes up another of their Chasers, a curly-haired Third Year that Lily doesn’t know. “Nothing worth stealing, in any case.”

Black detaches himself from Potter, looming over the Ravenclaw. “You weren’t so cocky when we handed your arses to you at the last match, Cresswell,” he says, cracking his knuckles.

“Sirius,” Remus mutters, stepping forward.

_Brilliant,_ Lily thinks despairingly. _Sport-driven testosterone._ She glances at her friends, but Mary looks to be loving it all.

“Keep your team under control, Vane,” Benjy says idly. “We’re only having a laugh. Bit _serious_ , aren’t you, Black?”

The Ravenclaws laugh, but Potter yawns loudly. “Wow. Yeah, because he’s never heard that one before. If your Captain skills are as good as your witticisms, Fenwick, I think we’ll do just fine this season too. Come on, Sirius, let’s leave them to get all the practice they can.”

Black storms off, pushing past Remus on his way and striding through the Ravenclaws. The others follow, and Lily is starting to feel that she’s managed to escape without Benjy noticing her, until -

“Guess you sure like your Quidditch players, eh, Evans? A whole team, though - isn’t it a bit much, even for you?”

Lily freezes, and then slowly turns to face the girl who spoke. She hadn’t even noticed Amber McCroy in the midst of all the other, all male players. She smirks at her own comment, looking tremendously pleased with herself, but Benjy looks stricken. Lily can tell from his face that he hadn’t noticed her there until now.

“Amber -” he begins awkwardly.

“What did you just say?” Potter demands, glaring.

Amber shrugs. “She thinks she’s so high and mighty. She ditched Benjy, and now look at her, sniffing around you lot -”

“Amber!” Benjy shouts, at the same time that Potter yells, “Oi, you’re bang out of order!”

“I’d think about controlling your team, if I were you, Fenwick,” Adric says coolly.

“Don’t listen to her,” Mary mutters in Lily’s ear, pulling on her arm. “Come on, let’s go.”

“I could jinx her for you, if you like, Evans. Reckon I could get her from this range with a good Bat-Bogey,” Marlene says conversationally, falling into step with them as they make their way back to the castle, Lily quickly leading the way. Alfie has to jog to keep up.

“Oh, she’s not worth it,” Lily says, although she can feel anger coursing through her. “Let her say what she likes. She’s pathetic.”

“Potter was ready to jump to your defence,” Mary points out.

“Mary, please drop it,” Lily says, stopping as they reach the castle doors and wheeling to face her friend, who finally has the good grace to look contrite.

Alfie’s eyes are wide with excitement. “Is Quidditch always like this?” he asks wonderingly.

::

Remus skips lunch that afternoon and embarks upon a Sirius-hunt. Sirius-hunts are tricky, because Sirius is remarkably good at remaining hidden if he doesn’t want to be found. In the past, Remus has seriously considered making a map that keeps track of him, but for now all he’s got to go on are his instincts.

He checks the dormitory first, but it’s empty, and there’s only a few younger years in the common room. It takes Remus the best part of thirty minutes before he has a burst of inspiration and heads towards the second floor corridor. He’s only ever been to the Muggle Studies classroom once before, meeting Sirius after class last year, but it looks the same as it did back then. There are large displays on the walls depicting televisions, telephones, typewriters, cameras, all manner of Muggle technology, all with labels and captions. There’s a pot full of pencils and pens on each desk with standard writing paper in neat stacks, and a large overhead projector at the front of the room. It looks like what Remus remembers of his old Muggle primary schools, and he stands in the doorway, admiring and nostalgic for a moment, before he raps softly with his knuckles on the doorframe.

“Can I come in?” he asks.

Sirius, sat on Professor Laughton’s desk, kicks his legs out moodily and shrugs. “Thought you were a werewolf, not a vampire.”

Remus knits his eyebrows together in confusion. “Pardon?”

“I mean, you don’t need an invite,” Sirius says to his shoes.

“Ah. Well, actually, that’s a common misconception and it’s actually from Muggle media, that bit about being invited, that’s somehow found it’s way into wizarding soci -” Remus stops abruptly at the look on Sirius’ face. “Right. Sorry.”

Sirius sighs. “What are you doing here?”

Remus edges into the room. “Thing’s are a bit weird between us, aren’t they? Since we rowed, I mean.”

“You sound like a girl,” Sirius snorts.

“I suppose I do. Want to hit me, or - or put me in a headlock like you do to James when he’s annoying you?”

Sirius looks up, seems to consider him for a while, his head cocked to one side. “Nah,” he says finally. “You’re not like James. I can’t just -” he mimes hitting something, “- with you, y’know?”

“No,” Remus says apologetically. “Haven’t the foggiest, I’m afraid.”

“Maybe you are a girl,” Sirius says, still staring unnervingly at Remus. “Maybe this is why I can’t figure you out.”

“Well, I can assure you, I’m not a girl,” Remus says churlishly. “Want me to prove it?”

As soon as he thinks he, he thinks _Oh God shut up, stop talking, Lupin,_ but Sirius smiles slowly.

“Calm down, Moony. I’ve seen the credentials before, anyway, remember? You, passed out in the Shack. Me, heroic rescuer.”

“How could I forget?” Remus mutters. “Anyway, does this mean - are we okay now?”

“Oh, Merlin, stop worrying.” Sirius swings himself down off the table. “It’s not you, all right? It’s this whole family situation, yeah, and you just - got in the way. And today, with Cresswell and Fenwick, maybe I wanted to let off a bit of steam, and you were there acting like you’re my bloody keeper or something.”

“Technically, that’s Adric,” Remus says quietly.

Sirius raises an eyebrow. “Is now the time for puns?”

“You love puns,” Remus says, smiling slyly. “You -”

“Don’t do it -” Sirius warns.

“- _seriously_ love them.”

“Right, I changed my mind. I do want to hit you. Close your eyes and stand still.”

Remus does so, clenching his eyes shut and his hands down by his side. He feels Sirius getting closer, and tenses, but then he just feels the huff of Sirius’ breath on his face as he laughs. Remus opens one eye. Sirius is grinning wonkily at him, shaking his head.

“I can’t hit you. You’re not as fun as James. A moving target is better, and he flails about like the Giant Squid.”

Remus relaxes. Not just his body, but everything, now that he can see Sirius is back to being his happier self again. He doesn’t ask Sirius if this means things are fine between them now - Sirius won’t hit him, but he’d probably put something unpleasant in his porridge in the morning or jinx the portraits to call him girls names - and he decides against asking Sirius how he’s feeling about everything. 

After all, when Sirius is ready, Remus is confident that he’ll let him in. With most things Sirius, it’s just going to take a bit of time.

“Why the Muggle Studies classroom?” Remus asks when they’re on their way back to Gryffindor Tower.

“It relaxes me,” Sirius replies. “It’s just - simple, you know? I like it.”

Remus nods.

“We’re going on a trip at Easter,” Sirius says, his tone even. Remus glances at him, but Sirius is looking straight ahead. “Well, I mean, we need parental permission, but - Professor Laughton is going to take us to Muggle Edinburgh. We get to spend a weekend there. Have to use Muggle money and transport and everything.”

“That sounds pretty cool,” Remus says.

“Yeah.” Sirius sighs. “But - you know my mum -”

“I thought you said your cousin Andromeda was good with a quill,” Remus interrupts, before Sirius can look too downcast.

“Yeah…”

“Well, then,” Remus says briskly. “Just get her to forge your mum’s signature. Or I could do it.”

They stop outside the portrait of the Fat Lady, Sirius staring at Remus in amazement.

“Are you actually encouraging me to lie to the teachers?”

“You need to go on this trip,” Remus says firmly. “You can’t miss out.”

Sirius grins. “Maybe I could partner up with Evans,” he says with a laugh. “Imagine that.”

“You can take lots of pictures of her horrified face,” Remus says, nodding. Dimly, he thinks, _poor Lily_ , but then, looking at Sirius’ gleeful expression as he gives the Fat Lady the password, Remus thinks he’s got more important things to care about.

::

The next day, Lily walks out of her Charms classroom and very nearly into Benjy, who has evidently been waiting for her. Mary and Dorcas motion that they’ll catch up with her later, and speed up off the corridor, leaving Lily alone.

“Thanks, friends,” Lily mutters, and then smiles as best she can up at Benjy, trying to forget their last encounter. “Hi. How are you?”

“Ah, I’m all right,” Benjy says, although he looks somewhat pained. “Look, Lily, I just wanted to apologise for yesterday - what Amber said -”

“- was not what _you_ said,” Lily says gently.

“I know, but even so…”

“It’s fine,” Lily says. She’d only fallen asleep last night after exhausting herself by ranting to Mary and Dorcas about Amber McCroy, but she doubts that Benjy needs to hear that. “You don’t need to apologise.”

“And all that macho-talk,” Benjy says awkwardly. “You understand that was just - Quidditch talk.”

Lily raises an eyebrow. “I don’t think I’ll ever understand your Quidditch etiquette, Benjy. I think I’d prefer to be in the dark.”

“Right.” Benjy laughs, running a hand over his head. “Uh - so, there’s no hard feelings between us, right? Because I know I was out of order, about Snape, and he’s your friend, and I shouldn’t judge. I don’t - I don’t _get it_ , exactly, but it’s your choice, so - I’m sorry.”

Lily blinks, taken aback. “Thanks, Benjy. That means a lot.”

“We’ll be friends, yeah?” Benjy says firmly.

Lily nods. “I’d like that.”

After, Lily heads to Gryffindor Tower feeling better than she has in days. She hasn’t seen much of Sev since being back at school, and whenever she has glimpsed him in the hallways he’s been surrounded by a gang of friends and she hasn’t wanted to approach. Really, it’s been quite lonely, even with Mary and Dorcas, and the offer of Benjy’s friendship really does mean a lot.

Lily enters the girl’s dormitory with a spring in her step. Dorcas and Mary aren’t there; Moira O’Shea is laying stomach-down on her bed, flicking through a back issue of Witch Weekly. She looks up when Lily comes in, nods politely, and then goes back to her reading. Lily flings her bag on her bed, and immediately realises she’s crushed something in the process, something that makes a crinkling, crunching sound.

Lily retrieves it, and sees that it’s an envelope with an address written on in familiar handwriting.

_Miss Lily A. Evans_  
_The Bed On The Left Side Near The Door_  
_The Fourth Year Girls Dormitory_  
_Gryffindor Tower_

“Did you get…?” Lily waves the envelope at Moira, who blinks at her and then shakes her head.

Bewildered, Lily undoes the wax seal and pulls out what looks like an invitation. Lily reads it quickly through, and then once more, before voicing aloud her thoughts to Moira, who is looking intrigued by the unfolding events.

“What the hell is the Slug Club?”


	37. one dinner party, one prank, and one too many butterbeers.

_October 1974._

“You’re missing out, you know,” Joseph says from his position in front of the mirror, catching Severus’ eye in the reflection. 

Joseph adjusts the collar of his robes and runs a comb through his blonde hair, checking his appearance for what surely must be the tenth time in as many minutes. Sat on his bed, hunched over a 4 rolls of parchment essay on vampires, Severus pauses in his diligent writing to shake his head.

“On a cosy little get together with Slughorn? I’ll live, I’m sure.”

“Suit yourself,” Joseph says, now examining his teeth. “Although it’s slightly more than that. Think of who’s going. Myself, Evan, Barty. Regulus. The Head Boy and Girl. People with potential, with prospects. Slughorn has picked the best of the students - the ones with _promise_. Merlin knows why he invited you, then, but if you’re so determined not to go then it’s a moot point anyway.” 

Joseph looks at Severus again, smirking slightly. Severus has gone very still, thinking on what Joseph has just said. It’s quiet in the dorm, and the sounds of water lapping against the windows can be heard. It’s a soothing sound; Severus has always thought so. He doesn’t know what the dormitories are like in other Houses, but he’s sure they can’t be as comfortable as the Slytherin ones. 

Severus hasn’t thought much about the invitation he got to attend a dinner party with Slughorn. He had initially assumed it would be boring. But then, if what Joseph is saying is true - _the students with promise_ -

“Hang on,” Severus says, throwing his essay down on his pillow and getting to his feet. “Let me just get my cloak.”

::

The dinner party is held in Slughorn’s office, around a highly polished round table, and Severus finds himself sat next to Frank Longbottom and Slughorn himself. Regulus is seated on Slughorn’s other side, looking thoroughly bored, but Slughorn seems delighted with his little turn-out. 

There’s ten of them altogether, and Severus is pleased to note the majority are Slytherins. Longbottom is the only Gryffindor. There’s a plump, pink-faced girl from Hufflepuff and two boys from Ravenclaw; an angular featured, dark-skinned boy from Ravenclaw in Regulus’ year whom Severus is fairly certain is called Dirk Cresswell, and - Severus can’t help but scowl when he sees him - Benjy Fenwick. When they first arrived, there had been two other chairs as well, but after ten minutes Slughorn had waved them away with his wand, looking disappointed.

“So, Longbottom,” he says now, smiling widely, “what are your plans after this year? It sets a person up high, you know, being Head Boy!”

Longbottom stares down at his leg of lamb for a long time before answering. “I had, ah, thought of joining the Auror Training Program, sir,” he says.

“Splendid!” Slughorn roars. “Well, Barty here - Barty, have you ever met Frank? - is the person to talk to! Your father has just been promoted to the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, hasn’t he?”

Barty nods stiffly, and Slughorn beams wider still, his moustache rippling.

“Well, you never know, boys! We might just be looking at the future Head Auror and Head of the DMLE!” 

Longbottom smiles weakly, but Barty looks unimpressed.

“I don’t have any desire to follow in my father’s footsteps, sir,” Barty says.

Slughorn’s moustache droops for a moment, and then his eyes crinkle as he wags a finger across the table at Barty.

“Ah! Have your sights set on higher things, eh? Well, I don’t blame you, Crouch; there’s nothing wrong with wanting to carve a name out for yourself in a different field. Now, Winifred, my dear,” he says, abruptly turning to address the Head Girl so suddenly that she nearly drops her forkful of potato, “how is your aunt Gladwyn? She must have mentioned me, I’m sure…”

Severus lets the tide of idle chatter wash over him as he eats his dinner. Slughorn has served them a good three-course meal at least, probably to make up for the fact that this party is clashing with the school’s Halloween Feast. Severus has just cleared his plate when the door opens. He glances up reflexively and is immediately glad that he doesn’t have any food left in his mouth, or he may have just choked on it.

Lily is inching into the room, smiling nervously. “Sorry, Professor,” she’s saying, as Slughorn has just spotted her and gotten to his feet to greet her. “I promised my friends that I’d stay with them for some of the Feast…”

“Oh, not to worry, my dear girl, not to worry! Here, let me just get you a chair - you don’t mind budging over, do you, Snape? Good lad - There we are!”

Slughorn settles himself down and busies himself with offering Lily a drink. Severus catches Joseph rolling his eyes theatrically, and Evan leans over to mutter something in Regulus’ ear. Longbottom shoots Lily a grin, and Fenwick waves. 

“I had thought you weren’t coming, you know,” Slughorn is saying to Lily. “There was only you and one other who didn’t turn up - I don’t suppose you know if Sirius Black will be in attendance tonight?”

“I, ah, I wouldn’t have thought so, sir,” Lily says apologetically, taking a sip of pumpkin juice. “He was at the Feast and he - didn’t really seem like he was in a hurry to leave anytime soon.”

Slughorn is visibly crestfallen, although he tries to hide it. “Ah, well. It can’t be helped, I suppose. Perhaps hosting it on the same evening of the Feast was a bit - but never mind. Bit of a wild card, your brother, eh, Regulus?”

“I wouldn’t say you’re missing out terribly on his company, sir,” Regulus drawls, and his friends all laugh.

“Oho - a bit of sibling rivalry!” Slughorn says jovially. “I bet you drive your mother mad.”

“One of us more so than the other,” Regulus says, smiling charmingly.

“It can be settled on the Quidditch pitch, can’t it, Reg?” Evan says. “It’s Slytherin vs Gryffindor soon.”

Slughorn smiles around at them all. “How good to see so many of you so keenly invested in sport. Now, Fenwick, you made Captain this year - Professor Flitwick was telling me you aspire to play professionally after school, if you can - what team would you go for? I personally know a few contacts in the industry, you see…”

As the talk doesn’t seem to be veering off the subject of Quidditch anytime soon, Severus gives up paying any sort of attention. Lily hasn’t so much as glanced in his direction since she arrived, and he fights down the impulse to wave a hand in front of her face. All in all, the whole evening has been a colossal waste of his time, and Severus wishes that he’d ignored Joseph’s wheedling and stayed in his dorm, finishing off Graves’ essay. Slughorn hasn’t bothered to talk to him, and Severus had assumed it was because he didn’t have the right sort of surname; it’s doubtful that Slughorn knows any Snapes to quiz him on, to ask if he’s still in touch with; but then _Evans_ and _Fenwick_ aren’t wizarding names, and they’re getting plenty of attention -

“Are you going to ignore me for the rest of our time at Hogwarts?” Lily asks him suddenly, and Severus turns to see bright green eyes staring at him over the dessert.

“Wh - what?”

“Oh, don’t play dumb. You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I haven’t!” he insists, throwing a hasty look around the table. Slughorn is now deep in conversation with Evan and Joseph, and Barty and Regulus are talking together. No one is paying them the slightest bit of attention. Severus lowers his voice, looks at Lily imploringly. “Lily, it’s not like that. I’ve just been really busy, and after - after Fenwick came to visit, you never came to call for me again.”

“You could have called for _me,_ Sev,” Lily says impatiently. “But you didn’t think of that, did you?”

“I thought you were angry at me or something.”

“Why would I be angry at you?” Lily asks. “You didn’t do anything, did you?”

“Well - no,” Severus says quickly. “But, I dunno…”

He can feel himself getting increasingly flustered under Lily’s impassive stare. He knows it’s no use; ever since they were children, Lily always wins arguments, and Severus is always left wanting to crawl into the nearest body of water. He swallows nervously, and Lily finally smiles.

“You’re an idiot,” she tells him.

He nods in agreement.

“Sorry,” he says quickly.

“I know you are,” she says, sounding half exasperated, but her eyes are twinkling. “Anyway, what do you make of all this?”

Severus shrugs. “I think Slughorn wouldn’t mind collecting half these people here and displaying them in a shiny cabinet.”

Lily laughs. “He is a bit much, isn’t he?” she says, looking over her shoulder, but Slughorn is still engrossed in conversation and doesn’t hear them. “It’s a bit awful, really, the way he’s probably invited half these people just because of who their family members are -”

“Not you, though,” Severus points out. 

“Or you,” Lily says, smiling. She nudges him with her shoulder; her hair swings close to his face, and he inhales the scent of peppermint. “I guess we’re doing all right for ourselves.”

Slughorn continues quizzing them all throughout the rest of dessert and as he serves them all coffee and biscuits. He probes them all about their ambitions after Hogwarts, and Severus is pleased he isn’t the only one who doesn’t really have a clue what he wants to do with his life. He thinks about the subjects he enjoys most at school - Defence, Potions - and yet can’t imagine applying them to a career. He can’t imagine being a Ministry man, and yet he knows that he doesn’t have the advantages of Regulus, Evan, Barty and even Joseph - being the sons of well connected families, they are unlikely to be turned away from whatever jobs they set their sights on. Longbottom, Quirke, Fenwick and the Hufflepuff girl - Jones - seem to have plans, but then they’ve had their career counselling and are more likely to have some sort of direction. Cresswell just looks blank when Slughorn asks him, and even Lily admits she doesn’t really know yet, although she mumbles something about maybe being a Healer or a teacher, “something that’ll help people.” Severus thinks she’d be good at that sort of job, although he catches sight of Joseph miming being sick as Lily is talking.

At the end of the evening, Slughorn invites them all to a party over the Christmas holidays.

“A bit more lavish than this,” he tells them, chortling, and Lily exchanges eye-rolls with Severus. “Feel free to bring someone along! Dates welcome! The more the merrier!”

Severus hangs back as Slughorn bids everyone good evening, and waits until the rest of his friends have gone before leaving Slughorn’s office with Lily. 

“Reckon you’ll be going?” he asks her as they walk together. The dungeon passageways are silent, and he knows that his friends have gone back to the Slytherin common room by now. He heads in the opposite direction with Lily, up the stone staircase, intending to walk her to Gryffindor Tower. Longbottom is some way behind them, talking to Jones, and the Ravenclaws behind them. 

“Why not?” Lily says. “I was planning on staying over Christmas this year anyway. Mum and Dad are off on holiday - it’s their anniversary, and he’s treating her - and I don’t fancy staying at home with Petunia. I’ll probably bring Mary or Dorcas along; it’ll be a laugh.”

Severus nods absently. They emerge at the top of the steps into the Entrance Hall; Jones waves goodbye to Longbottom and turns to go down a different set of steps, down towards the Hufflepuff common room. The Halloween decorations are all still up, giant floating pumpkins hovering over the main staircase and the suits of armour enchanted to groan ominously whenever somebody walks by. 

“You don’t need to walk me,” Lily says. “Honestly, it’s fine, I’ve got Frank -”

“I don’t mind,” Severus says, marching determinedly forward before Lily can protest any more. He reaches the staircase at the same time as Fenwick, and he just has time to hear a grotesque sort of squelching sound before he is completely, utterly, covered in a vile-smelling substance.

He hears Fenwick yell from beside him; at least, Severus assumes it’s Fenwick. He can’t see properly as the thick, gooey whatever it is has wasted no time in forming a sticky veil over his eyes. Severus wipes at his face, his eyeballs stinging, and squints though the goo to see that Fenwick is similarly covered and stinks to high heaven as well.

“Sev, are you okay?” Lily asks, rushing forward. Severus notes that her shoulders and tips of her hair are slightly splattered, and the hem of Longbottom’s robes are splashed too. Cresswell, lingering at the back, appears to have escaped unscathed, and seems fearful of approaching any closer.

Severus is about to ask what the hell happened, but he doesn’t need to wait for an answer. Lily has spotted something that he, covered in slime, is unable to see, and he watches as she strides over to a suit of armour and yanks Peter Pettigrew out by the collar of his robes.

“Do you think that’s funny, Pettigrew?” she snarls.

“Pretty funny, yeah,” he says, full of bravado, which means that surely his stupid mates are around here somewhere.

Sure enough, Sirius Black and James Potter stroll casually out from behind a statue, grinning. 

“Evening, Evans,” Potter says. “Care to let Pete go?”

Lily, red in the face with fury, releases Pettigrew, who scampers off to stand by Potter and Black, massaging his neck and snickering. A second later, Lupin emerges from the Great Hall, apparently unaware of the scene in front of him.

“It’s okay, McGonagall went the other way, so I think we’re pretty sa - oh. Hi, Lily.”

Lily’s eyes widen. She stares at Remus for a moment, and then whirls back to face Potter. “You - are - such - a - child!” she says. “I can’t believe you! What do you hope to achieve, acting like this?”

“Well,” Black says, resting his chin in his hand as if seriously considering the question. “We did hope to get Fenwick here covered in slime, and we achieved that.”

“Plus we got Snivelly into the bargain!” Pettigrew adds gleefully.

“Yeah, what are you doing coming this way, Snivellus?” Potter asks. “Isn’t your cave down that way?”

“Just lucky timing for us, I suppose, James,” Black says. “Two for one. Sorry you got in the firing line, Evans, and you, Frank.”

“You will be, you idiots,” Lily growls. “You just slimed the Head Boy.”

“Ah, Frank, you wouldn’t take points off of Gryffindor for a bit of Halloween fun, would you?” Potter asks earnestly.

Longbottom sighs heavily. “Twenty points from Gryffindor, you four,” he says in a resigned voice, ignoring the howls of protest. “Ten each for targeting Fenwick and Snape here. Now, all of you, back to your common rooms.” He storms up the staircase, not looking at any of them. 

Potter stares after him, disbelief on his face. “I thought he was all right,” he says sadly.

“You can’t smooth-talk everyone, Potter,” Severus says, rubbing at his face, which is beginning to itch. 

“Oh, shut up, Snivelly,” Potter says, not even looking at him. “Go take your annual bath, you stink more than usual.”

“Yeah, that nice smelling thing in the bathrooms? That’s soap. _So-ap._ I’d use it, if I were you,” Black adds.

Fenwick clears himself up with a wave of his wand, and, after a moments deliberation, he does the same for Severus. Lily smiles gratefully at him, and Severus mutters a grudging ‘thanks’. Fenwick shrugs, says goodbye to Lily, and he too heads up the stairs, Cresswell trotting after him. 

“That was a disappointing reaction,” Black observes, staring after him.

“It’s called being mature,” Lily says scathingly, although Severus thinks that, if Lily were not here, Fenwick’s reaction may have been less mature. “What, do you want people to get mad at you, Black? Is this how you get your kicks, looking for fights?”

“Careful, Evans,” Black says. “You might be on James’ no-prank list, but you’re not on mine.”

“Oh, I’m quivering in fear,” Lily says, rolling her eyes. She glances at Lupin, who is staring mildly down at the floor, and shakes her head. “Honestly, Remus. I expected better of you, at any rate.”

A small crease appears between Lupin’s eyebrows as he frowns but stays silent. How a coward like that ever got into the House of the supposed brave is beyond Severus. Can’t even stand up to his friends, Severus thinks. There’s always been something strange about him. 

“I’m going to bed, before one of the teachers comes along and sees this mess. I’d actually like Gryffindor to win the House Cup, you know,” Lily says. “’Night, Sev.”

Severus departs at the same time as Lily, not wanting to be left with an irate looking Black, who is now mimicking Lily’s lofty tone to a laughing Pettigrew. Lupin isn’t laughing, though, and neither is Potter. Glancing back at the top of the stairs to the dungeons, Severus notices Potter still staring after Lily, an unreadable expression on his face. 

::

“Honestly, Evans could give Moaning Myrtle a run for her money,” Sirius says, stretching out on one of the blankets they’ve brought to the Shrieking Shack. 

They’ve made a nest for themselves in the least dusty corner, and in the middle have piled a bundle of sweets and bottles of butterbeer. Lanterns flicker from the top of the piano and in the dark, creaking corners, throwing shadows up on the walls. Sirius can hear the wind howling outside and can glimpse through a crack in the walls the moon, just visible, a scythe-like shape in the dark sky, occasionally hidden by the scurrying clouds. 

“You sound like Moaning Myrtle,” Peter says, opening a pack of Every Flavour Beans and inspecting a dark brown one between his thumb and forefinger before popping it into his mouth. “The way you’re carrying on about Evans.”

“Well, she completely ruined the prank!” Sirius exclaims. “It would have been hilarious, had she not been there giving Moony a moral dressing down and making James here all mopey.”

“I’m not mopey,” James says quickly, trying to swig nonchalantly on his butterbeer and ending up with foam up his nose.

Sirius eyes him appraisingly as Peter bangs him on the back. “Hmm,” Sirius says. “I hope not, Potter. I worry for you sometimes. And you,” he says sharply, turning to Remus, who has been even quieter than normal since the slime incident. “Honestly, you two. Buck up. It’s Halloween. Shall we tell ghost stories?”

Peter nods enthusiastically, but Remus and James don’t look convinced. Sirius snorts.

“For Merlin’s sake, men. Do you honestly care what Evans thinks?”

Remus and James don’t reply. James has a shifty look on his face which Sirius doesn’t like one bit. He stands up abruptly, grabbing the Cloak. 

“Right, well, you two can sit here and, and, I don’t know - think of flower arrangements to send her to say you’re sorry. I’m off out for a bit of fun. Coming, Pete?”

Peter glances at James, but then scrambles to his feet. Sirius pats him on the back. 

“See,” he says, pointing between James and Remus, wilting on the floor, and Peter. “This is what a true friend looks like. Ready for action at all times. Up for a laugh. Not feeling guilty about girls. Pah. Come on, Peter!”

He leads the way back out of the Shack, pausing only to swipe a couple of Fizzing Whizzbees that James had just been about to eat. 

“Where are we going?” Peter asks, slightly breathlessly, once they’ve been walking for a while. 

They’re underneath the Willow, and truth be told, Sirius hasn’t really thought about where he’s heading, only that he wants to do something. He thinks about going back to the castle, storming into the Slytherin common room and shoving Snivellus’ head down a toilet, but then thinks that might be a bit too much like hard work, especially if Peter is his only back-up.

Then, he has a brilliant idea.

::

Sirius is a lot taller than Peter is, and so he has to crouch down as the two of them huddle under the Invisibility Cloak together. The streets of Hogsmeade are mostly deserted, but the windows of The Three Broomsticks are full of light, warm and inviting, and the two boys make their way towards the pub, keen to get out of the cold.

The warmth of the fire hits them as soon as they open the door. The pub has the right amount of people for sneaking around under the Cloak in; not too many that it becomes hard to navigate through the crowds, but enough so that no one notices the door open by itself, and Peter doubts anyone will notice if a pint or two of Goblin’s Ale goes missing from a table. 

Peter nods towards an empty table near the back of the room and leads the way. On their way by, Sirius grabs a half-finished glass from a surly looking witches table. They sit down, and Sirius offers Peter the glass to sniff, which he does, and nearly chokes. Whatever it is, it smells stronger than Firewhiskey. 

“Well,” Sirius murmurs, grinning wildly and downing the whole thing in one go. “Cheers, Pete.”

::

Between them, Sirius and Peter have nicked the equivalent of four butterbeers, two glasses of Firewhiskey, a pint of Goblin’s Ale, and a tankard of something dark brown and foamy before they start getting the giggles and decide they should probably leave. Getting out of the pub unnoticed under the Cloak is a bit more tricky than it was coming in, and they nearly don’t manage it when Sirius, distracted by Madam Rosmerta, very nearly walks into an elderly wizard sat at the bar. Peter manages to yank him back by his sleeve and get him out of The Three Broomsticks, and back into the fresh air of outside. 

“Where to now?” Peter asks, leaning against the wall of the pub. 

“The Hog’s Head,” Sirius says decisively.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Sirius says, nodding. “We’ll walk up a bit, and then I reckon we can come out from under the Cloak. That barman doesn’t care.”

The Hog’s Head is a lot emptier than The Three Broomsticks, and the barman watches them beadily from behind his spectacles as Peter and Sirius order two more butterbeers, trying not to slur their words. The fire isn’t as warm here either, and both boys sit as near to it as possible. 

Sirius leans forward, clinking his bottle against Peter’s. 

“I wonder what Remus and James are doing?” Peter asks, taking a sip.

Sirius shrugs. “Writing Evans an apology letter,” he says darkly.

“Mary Macdonald reckons James fancies Evans,” Peter says, nodding sagely. “I heard them talking about it at Quidditch practice.”

Sirius laughs contemptuously. “Well, that’s - I mean, that’s ridiculous. We’d know, wouldn’t we? _I’d_ know. Evans is an all right looking girl, sure, but that - that’s silly.”

He stares at Peter unblinkingly, and after a moment Peter realises he’s being silently asked for confirmation. He nods quickly, nearly sloshing butterbeer down himself. 

“Oh, yeah. Absolutely. You’d know.”

Sirius continues to stare at him for a few more seconds and then, apparently satisfied, nods. Peter sags a little into his chair in relief. Privately, he thinks that James would be off his nut to let it slip to Sirius if he fancied Evans, but obviously he doesn’t voice this. He concentrates on drinking the rest of his butterbeer as Sirius stares moodily into the dying embers of the fire. It reminds him of Lily Evans’ hair; it’s a nice colour, Evans’ hair -

“I like blondes,” Peter says, suddenly, wanting to break the silence.

Sirius raises an eyebrow. “Moira O’Shea wasn’t blonde.”

“No, but there’s that girl, the Hufflepuff - oh, what’s her name - sits behind Remus in Herbology.”

“Michelle Warburton?” 

“Yeah!” Peter says, snapping his fingers. “Michelle Warburton. Tha’s it. She’s cute. Helped me last year when I got cornered by that teething Snapping Rhododendron.”

“Ask her to Hogsmeade,” Sirius says, downing the rest of his drink. “You do all right with girls, weirdly.”

Peter ignores that last bit, biting down on his reply. _I’m nice to them, Sirius._ Sirius probably can be nice to girls, if he tried; he’s probably been classically trained in the art of Being A Gentleman, but he’s too preoccupied with being a general wanker most of the time. Peter smiles fondly at him. 

“Want another?” he asks, pointing to the bar.

Sirius nods. “Yeah, why not? Let’s get trashed, and then go find Michelle Whatsit for you.”

The bar gradually empties around them, until it’s just the two of them and two red-nosed wizards propped up at the bar. Peter isn’t sure of the time, but he’s certain it’s probably time to head back now. He thinks of the long walk back through the tunnels and passageways, of having to try to hit the knot in the Willow while they’re in this state, and groans. The fire is nearly out, and Peter is about to stand up, to try to cajole Sirius into joining him, when Sirius speaks.

“I was invited to that dinner party, y’know,” he says gruffly, fiddling with the neck of his butterbeer bottle. “That Slug Club thingymajig.”

“Yeah, James mentioned something about you getting a letter,” Peter says.

“My cousins mentioned it, once. Quite the exclusive club apparently. He likes to ‘collect’ people. And now Sluggy’s got my brother. Bet he nearly piddled himself at the thought of getting me too.”

“Suppose so,” Peter mutters. “But he didn’t, did he? Sounds like a load of bollocks, if you ask me.”

Sirius barks a laugh. “Eloquent as ever.”

“True though,” Peter carries on. “I mean - Evans was invited. Your brother. _Snivellus_. Must be a club where being a boring tosser is the entry requirement. You’re well shot, Sirius.”

Sirius grins. “Cheers, mate. You always know what to say.”

“I try,” Peter says with a shrug, because it’s true enough. 

He feels like he’s always trying; trying to make his mates laugh with some comment or other, trying to listen to their problems, trying not to bore them too much with his own, trying not to let them see how hard he tries, trying to keep up with the others as they leap from one brilliant idea to the next, trying to get girls attention, because no matter how nice he is to girls, Sirius and James always seem to get their attention more.

_Well, apart from Evans,_ he thinks, and giggles to himself.

“What’s funny?” Sirius asks, squinting.

“Imagining Remus and James’ faces when we turn up,” Peter says.

Sirius grins. “Reckon we should take them some drink, to say sorry?”

Peter arranges his face into his best saint-like expression. “Be rude not to.”

::

“Are you drunk?” Remus demands, when they eventually return to the Shack.

Peter is leaning on Sirius for support, who is leaning on the wall. Remus looks from the both of them, to James. James frowns, running both his hands through his hair.

“Are you drunk - _without us?_ ” James says incredulously.

Peter giggles. Remus and James boggle. Sirius moves his hand from the wall, and he and Peter both go down in a heap. A cloud of dust puffs up around them, and in between coughs and snickers Peter manages to extract the nearly full bottle of Firewhiskey they managed to smuggle away under the Cloak as they left The Hog’s Head. Peter’s pretty sure that they caused an all-out duel by taking it from the two inebriated wizards at the bar, both of them blaming the other for it’s sudden disappearance, but at the moment he’s drunk with one of his best friends, and his other two best friends are staring at him with expressions so disbelieving that the whole situation is just funny.

“We got this for you,” he says, waving the bottle in what he thinks is a tantalising way, a bit too close to Sirius’ head.

“Well, thanks very much,” James mutters, looking affronted. “We get your leftovers.” 

“You’ll always be getting my cast-offs, James, mate,” Sirius says, struggling into a sitting position and wincing when James’ foot collides with his knee.

“Wanker,” James says, almost affectionately. He pulls the bottle from Peter’s grasp and takes a swig before settling himself down next to Sirius. Remus tuts once, a half-hearted display of disapproval, before joining them. 

From his position on the floor, Peter closes his eyes. He knows he’ll probably regret it in the morning, when he wakes up with various articles of clothing stolen and crude drawings on his face thanks to Sirius’ unhealthy obsession with Muggle pens, but for now the Firewhiskey is keeping him warm, and the floor of the Shrieking Shack isn’t all too bad, really.

Somewhere above him, he hears Remus. “They’ll take your trousers, you know,” he says, a gentle warning to his voice.

Peter hums sleepily to himself and nods into the floor. They do it about once a year, anyway. Someone - Remus, most likely - pats him consolingly on the head as James and Sirius roar with laughter about something or other. _At least they’re not arguing about Evans anymore,_ is Peter’s last, contended thought, before the lull of the Firewhiskey pulls him under. 

::

He wakes up in the early hours, minus his t-shirt and with “I love McGonagall” scrawled across his bare chest in James’ handwriting. There’s a smiley face as well, in what is probably Sirius’, with Peter’s belly-button serving as a nose. Peter squints down at it, and then looks blearily across at his friends. James is passed out still sat up, his glasses dangling off the end of his nose, and Remus and Sirius are curled around each other, Remus holding the empty Firewhiskey bottle like a teddy bear. 

Through the pounding of his head, Peter manages to Summon the rest of the blankets and throw them over his mates to ward off the chill. He finds his t-shirt and rolls it into a ball to serve as a pillow, before cocooning himself up in the last blanket. His spine creaks in protest as he settles back down on the floor, but Peter ignores it. The blanket is warm enough, the sound of his friends’ breathing is comforting, and really, Peter thinks drowsily, smiling into the dust, there are worse ways to start the day.


	38. gryffindor vs slytherin.

_November 1974._

On the morning of the match between Gryffindor and Slytherin, the mood at the breakfast table is a tense one. 

James keeps on picking up his knife and fork only to immediately set them back down again, and even though Marlene is loading up his plate, Alfie hasn’t touched his food either. Glancing down the table, Remus sees that most of the team look in a similar state. Adric in particular looks like he might be sick over his porridge and Rachel, Richie and Meredith haven’t uttered a word all morning.

The exception - _of course_ , thinks Remus wryly - is Sirius, who is simultaneously keeping up a loud stream of chatter to Peter and shovelling his breakfast into his mouth with so much gusto that Lily is eyeing him with open disgust and, after a moment, moves places to sit at the other end of the table.

“Quite good weather for a match day,” Sirius says cheerily. With a mouth full of kippers, it comes out more like: _Qu-goo-whar-or-madday._

Remus frowns slightly. Sirius was raised to know all the different types of cutlery with his eyes closed and has, in actual fact, impeccable table manners. Remus suspects that all of this might be for show. And he has a pretty good idea of who it’s intended for.

At the Slytherin table, Regulus is just about visible, sat in front of a large glass of something green and healthy looking. The Captain, Nathaniel Bulstrode, appears to be giving the rest of the team a pre-match pep-talk, but it doesn’t seem as if Regulus is even hearing it. As Sirius’ laugh travels across the room, Regulus visibly jumps, his shoulders hunched and defensive. At last Bulstrode finishes his speech, claps Regulus so hard on the back that the smaller boy nearly lands in his cereal, and the Slytherin team troop out of the Great Hall, followed by many eager stares and excited chatter.

“Well, everyone,” Adric says, his gaze snapping from the door where the Slytherins have just exited and falling on his own team. “This is it. Best head down to the pitch.”

“You’ll be great, Alf,” Marlene says bracingly. “Just fly like you did at practice.”

Alfie opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. In the end he settles on a nod. Sirius throws an arm over the smaller boy’s shoulder and pulls Alfie towards him. It’s this gesture, rather than his sister’s words of comfort, that finally elicits the smallest of smiles.

“Look after him, Black,” Marlene mutters as the rest of the team stand up and start making their way out of the Great Hall.

Peter downs the rest of his pumpkin juice in one, wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, and stands up as well. His blue eyes are shining with excitement, but Remus can’t help the worry nestled in the pit of his stomach. 

“Come on, let’s go,” Peter says. “We want to get good seats.”

“Ooh, save some for us, Peter!” Mary calls down to him. “We’ll be along in a little bit.”

Lily rolls her eyes at that, and Remus thinks back to all the times in Second Year when James and Sirius forced him to come to matches that he had zero interest in. _Now look at me_ , he thinks, as he and Peter join the throng of people heading to the match. _They’ve got me worrying and everything._

::

Huddled together, two minutes before the match, James realises he should probably be annoyed at how utterly shite Adric is at inspirational speeches. As it is, he’s mostly just concerned with the fact that, since getting into the changing rooms, Sirius has turned suddenly and eerily silent.

“Okay. Right. Er - so, their team may be bigger than we are. But that doesn’t matter -”

“It does when you’re trying to fend off one of Bulstrode’s Bludgers,” Meredith mutters darkly. 

“Well, that’s not - I mean, we’ve got a disadvantage of having had our Seeker for less than a month. That’s - unfortunate, but still -”

A muscle clenches in Sirius’ jaw.

“And - okay, so we know that Reece has freakish long arms and legs, and obviously James, Richie, Rachel - that’s a bit of a problem - but as long as you remember the weaving tactics we covered -”

James sighs impatiently, pushing his hands up into his hair. “Look. We’ve got this one,” he says abruptly. “They’ve had their Seeker on the team for as long as we’ve had Alfie, so we’re on equal footing with that. In fact I’d say we have the advantage because Alfie is brilliant. Chasers, we know the formations. Reece is gangling and has no coordination. The Beaters are strong, but thick as dragon dung. And we don’t have to worry about their Chasers because, well, Adric - we’ve got you, all right? So everyone, let’s just stop worrying and go out there and do what we do best.”

After a moments silence, Adric coughs. “Well said, Potter. Everyone - er - let’s go.”

Sirius nudges him with the handle of his broomstick as they wait to walk out. “Nice speech.”

James glances at him, and sees a slight smirk on his best friend’s face. James grins as the roar of the crowd washes over him, feeling some of the ease return to his shoulder blades. He’s ready for this.

“Yeah, I know.”

::

“And it’s the beginning of a very interesting match, ladies and gentleman, a very good game to start off the year with. Gryffindor and Slytherin both have new Seekers on their team: Alfred McKinnon for Gryffindor and Regulus Black for Slytherin. Black, of course, is brother to one of the Gryffindor Beaters - no prizes for guessing which one, haha - so it’ll be interesting to see how this all plays out, and if family drama will get in the way!”

“This is a Quidditch match, Dearborn, not a soap opera, if you please.”

“Of course, Professor, just adding some extras - er - what’s a soap opera?”

“The match, Dearborn!”

“Okay, okay! Lightfoot of Gryffindor has the Quaffle securely in possession, she easily evades Greengrass and Everard, she’s streaking towards the goal, Reece better watch out - OOH, that was CLOSE! Lightfoot is put off course by a Bludger from Bulstrode, the Slytherin Captain, and Everard has the Quaffle - she shoots - blocked by the Gryffindor Captain, Vane - I see we have a fierce competition going on here - wait a moment, Black - er - Slytherin Black - seems to have seen something - HE’S SEEN THE SNITCH - wow, that’s a fast broom - OH, OUCH! I think that will be a penalty!”

In the stands, Remus groans but no one hears it as the Slytherin supporters erupt in angry boos. Sirius had collided - deliberately, by the looks of it - with Regulus, whacking the Slytherin Seeker on the head with his Beaters bat in the process. Even from this distance Remus can see Sirius gesturing angrily, apparently trying to defend himself, but Madam Hooch is having none of it. She blows her whistle at Sirius and he flies away to the other end of the pitch, watching murderously as the Slytherin Chaser Hartington takes the penalty. 

“This is a tense moment - Black of Slytherin still looks a bit dazed, that’s not going to help Slytherin any - oh but that will! Slytherin score! 0-10 to Slytherin!”

“Bugger,” Remus mutters.

Beside him, Peter is chewing on his bottom lip. “Sirius needs to be careful,” he says. “He can’t just spend the whole game trying to knock Regulus off his broom.”

“It’s all right,” Marlene says, her voice slightly muffled behind the huge Gryffindor scarf she’s wearing. “We’ve still got Alfie. And James, remember - he doesn’t look too happy.”

Marlene is right. As Remus watches, James flies over to Sirius and is apparently shouting at him. Remus can’t exactly blame him, but Sirius just twitches as if trying to shrug James off, and then puts on a burst of speed into the middle of the pitch, hitting a Bludger in the direction of Greengrass, who has to roll over mid-air to avoid it, dropping the Quaffle neatly into Richie’s possession.

“That’s more like it,” Dearborn is saying. “We need to see a bit more teamwork like that from Gryffindor and less violent outbursts if they hope to win this match! The Gryffindor Seeker hasn’t had much to do as of yet, but here’s hoping we see a bit more action from young McKinnon soon.”

Thirty feet above them, Alfie is flying around the perimeter of the pitch, and at the mention of his name his hands give a wobble and he nearly loses his grip on his broom. The Slytherin crowd jeer, laughing, and Marlene stands up and bellows a few choice obscenities at them that are, luckily, lost in the noise.

“That was - creative,” Remus says, rubbing his ears.

“Sorry, Remus,” Marlene says, sitting back down. “Just - Alfie gets nervous, that’s all. It puts him off.”

In the twenty minutes that follow, Slytherin manage to score two more goals and Gryffindor three, making them equal at 30-30. Sirius is still hammering Bludgers furiously at anything wearing green, although thankfully he seems to be avoiding deliberately fouling anyone. James has scored two of the three goals, and even as Remus watches he dodges past two Slytherin Chasers and scores another.

“40-30 to Gryffindor!”

“He’s pretty good, James, isn’t he?” Marlene says. 

Peter nods furiously, too busy shouting his support to answer properly. Even Remus has to admit that James has upped his game for this match, and as he sees the look of grim determination on his friend’s face as James races for the Quaffle again, he suddenly realises why. James wants to make sure they win. And not just for the team - but for Sirius. Whenever James isn’t trying to get possession of the Quaffle, he’s looking around for Sirius, to see where he is, checking up on him. He knows what a loss to Slytherin - to Regulus - will mean to Sirius, and he’s doing everything he can to make sure that doesn’t happen. 

Remus feels a swelling in his chest, not unlike what he felt in Second Year, when he realised his brave idiot friends didn’t care he was a werewolf.

Suddenly, he’s on his feet. “COME ON GRYFFINDOR!” he shouts.

Peter blinks at him. “Wow, Moony. Didn’t know you had it in you.”

Remus stays upright, scanning around for any sign of gold. _Come on, Alfie_ , he thinks, because as great as James is playing, he knows that Alfie will have to catch the Snitch soon. Regulus has lost his dazed look, and is swerving in and out of players in his hunt for the tiny ball; on his way, he manages to block a few Gryffindor passes, and as he flies close to Sirius, Remus sees Sirius grip the handle of his broom tightly, but thankfully, he doesn’t do anything, just watches tight-lipped as his brother brushes past him.

Suddenly, Regulus goes into a dive. The crowd gasp, and Dearborn is shouting something into his microphone but Remus isn’t paying attention to the words. He can hear Mary MacDonald screaming behind him, and Peter’s mantra of “oh no oh no oh no” beside him, and then Marlene yells, “Go on Alfie!” and Remus realises that a streak of gold and red has pulled up alongside Regulus. 

The two Seekers are neck and neck; Regulus is taller than Alfie is, and outstretches a hand towards the Snitch. It looks like Alfie is trying to push Regulus out of the way, but Regulus is sturdier too, and not budging. Regulus leans forward -

A Bludger, aimed from Sirius, comes spiralling towards them both. For one sickening moment Remus thinks that Sirius has done it again, that he’s going to break Regulus’ arm or worse, but the Bludger just goes whizzing over Regulus’ head, ruffling his dark hair wildly. It does the trick, though, and Remus realises that Sirius hadn’t meant to hit him, just startle him, and it works: Regulus rears up on his broom, his concentration broken, and in that split second Alfie pushes forward and grasps the Snitch in his hand.

“Alfie McKinnon has caught the Snitch! GRYFFINDOR WIN, 190-30!”

Remus can barely hear the commentary above the cheering and stamping of feet erupting all around him. Marlene seizes him in a hug, her voice hoarse from shouting. Peter is pulling on his arm, and Remus untangles himself from Marlene and follows Peter over the barriers and on to the pitch where the Gryffindor team have just landed. Alfie’s hair is nearly as messy as James’ from so many people ruffling it, and he’s grinning so wide Remus is sure it must hurt, the Snitch’s wings still visible through his fingers.

Marlene reaches Alfie first, knocking Rachel aside, and grabs her little brother around the neck. 

“You did it, Alf, you won! I knew you’d do it! Wait ‘til we tell Mum and Dad!”

Sirius still has his Beater’s bat over one shoulder, and he’s watching the Slytherin team, who have landed looking the exact opposite of the Gryffindor’s - that is, utterly miserable. Bulstrode spits on the pitch, an ugly snarl on his face, and stalks off to the changing rooms. The rest of the team follow, shooting the Gryffindor’s dirty looks as they go, all apart from Regulus, who keeps his eyes down, dragging his broom dejectedly behind him.

“Well done,” Remus says to him. Sirius looks around and smiles finally. “That was a well-timed Bludger there.”

“Look at you, with your Quidditch jargon,” Sirius says teasingly. He puts on what must be an impression of Remus’ voice. “ _Well-timed Bludger._ Am I rubbing off on you?”

“I sound nothing like that,” Remus says, sincerely hoping that’s true. “Anyway, I assume that standard post-Quidditch protocol is in order?”

“Party in the common room?” James says, grinning. “But of course, Moony. Lead the way!”

::

The Slytherin common room is silent when Regulus eventually comes out of the showers and returns to the dungeons. He half-expects Bulstrode to be waiting for him when he comes through the wall, but Bulstrode is nowhere to be seen. The rest of the team are there, though, and they all look up briefly to glare at him as he enters the room, before going back to their muttered conversation. Regulus can only guess what they’re talking about.

Sighing, Regulus lifts his chin up as he walks across to where his friends are sat around the table near the large windows. The murky green light from the lake is just visible through the frosted glass, and every so often a darker shape will pass by, some creature or other from the water, casting a shadow over his friend’s faces, but he sees their expressions clear enough to know that they’re not that impressed with him either.

“It wasn’t that bad,” Regulus says, sitting down on the leather-upholstered chair. “Was it?”

Aegir looks up from his Charms essay. “Er. Well, you did nearly get knocked out ten minutes in.”

“Because my brother is a psychopath!” Regulus hisses, feeling his cheeks redden and immediately hating his pale complexion. “He was deliberately aiming those Bludgers at me, that last one -”

“If you’re scared of Bludgers,” Evan says lazily, “then perhaps you’re in the wrong sport, Reg.”

“I am not scared!”

“I hear the Gobstones club are looking for new members,” Aegir says with a laugh. “Maybe you could try that instead.”

“Be careful though. I hear those things can spit pretty far -”

“I hate you both,” Regulus mutters.

“Oh, Reg, look. You lost your first game. You’re going to have to put up with some ribbing, all right? Who are you playing next - Hufflepuff? You’ll beat them for sure.”

“Hopefully,” Evan says in an undertone. Then, louder, “Have you finished your essay for Flitwick? I’ve only got half a roll of parchment.”

Regulus glares. “Cheering Charms are easy. I’m not helping you. Do it yourself.”

“I think you should cast one on yourself, in that case,” Evan says, looking affronted.

Regulus stands up. He can feel the other members of the team watching him. “I’m going for a walk,” he announces.

“Suit yourself,” Aegir says with a shrug, not looking up.

Regulus storms out of the common room, thinking that perhaps he’ll go back to the pitch and get some practice in. They’ve got a while until their next match against Hufflepuff, but still - _can’t hurt to get a bit of practice in early_ , he thinks, quickening his pace, and has to come to a halt abruptly to stop himself from walking into Severus, who was just rounded the corner with a stack of books in his arms.

“In a hurry?” Severus asks dryly, just about visible through the pile of books.

“I was - er - going to get a bit of flying practice in,” Regulus says.

“Wasn’t there a match today?”

Regulus nearly laughs - Severus really has no clue - but then he frowns. “You mean you didn’t come and watch?”

“Oh, forgive me,” Severus says flatly. “I didn’t think you needed another cheerleader. From what I’ve heard, I didn’t miss much.”

Regulus can feel his face flushing again, and thanks Merlin it’s dark in the dungeon corridor. “You know I lost, then.”

“I know _Slytherin_ lost. It is my understanding that there are six other players on the team.”

“Well, yes,” Regulus mutters, scuffing at the stone floor with his shoe. “But the Seeker is the most important one -”

“I will never understand a sport that places such importance on one player, and still calls itself a team game,” Severus says, sniffing. “You’re not upset about it, are you?”

“I - no. Of course not. I’m not _upset_.”

“Right,” Severus drawls. “Just checking. Well, if you’re going to the pitch, I’d avoid going through the Entrance Hall. Gryffindors are about, no doubt stealing food from the kitchens, and I just tipped off Quirke, so you might want to go a different way. Or not - it may give you a laugh, I suppose.”

Regulus smiles, imagining his brother getting busted by the Head Girl. “Right. Well - see you later, Severus. Have fun with your - books.”

“And you with your…flying,” Severus says, distaste practically dripping from the word.

Regulus nods, and carries on up the stone stairs that lead out from the dungeons, his step suddenly lighter than it had been before.


	39. might as well dance.

_December 1974._

If the Fourth Years had hoped that the Professors might go easy on them in the run up to the Christmas holidays, Lily quickly realises that they were dead wrong. Professor Graves in particular lets them all know that she doesn’t hold with any sort of Christmas spirit nonsense, and if anything, their Defence Against the Dark Arts workload seems to double over the festive period. 

“She could give McGonagall a run for her money,” Dorcas mutters, after a particularly difficult class in which Graves had made them all practice hex-deflection for nearly an hour straight. 

Lily nods in agreement, her right arm still throbbing with the effort of holding her wand for so long. Beside them, Mary hiccups for the sixteenth time in a row, her whole body jerking violently with the force of it; she had been partnered up with Remus, and had been unsuccessful in deflecting his Hiccuping Jinx which, Professor Graves assured her, would wear off in an hour or two.

McGonagall herself sets her class two essays to complete over Christmas, and her face remains impassive at the general outcry. Even Slughorn is working them all to the bone, having them slaving away over their steaming hot cauldrons and making Lily long for the cool December air and the flurries of snow that have started to descend over the castle. 

The saving grace is Charms, which Lily has always found enjoyable. Flitwick has started teaching them Summoning Charms and Lily is the only one who, by the last lesson of term, has managed it perfectly. She takes great satisfaction at watching her cushion zoom over from the other side of the room, landing neatly in front of her, whilst James Potter’s manages to get mid-way across the room and then falls down.

She’s less pleased when Flitwick announces, ten minutes before the end of the lesson, that Lily should partner up with Potter and show him the precise wand movements.

“It’s easy,” Lily says, ignoring the sour look on Potter’s face. “You’re just not focusing on the cushion enough.”

“I am focusing,” Potter says, his teeth gritted. At the back of the room, his friends are watching, nudging each other and sniggering. _Idiots,_ Lily thinks. “ _Accio cushion!_ ”

The cushion stays where it is. Potter drops his wand arm to his side, groaning.

“You’re not used to having things you’re not good at, are you?” Lily asks, amused.

Potter glares and raises his wand again. “ _Accio cushion!_ ” he says, louder. 

The cushion levitates, starts forward, and then flops. Potter lets out a frustrated noise.

“Oh, don’t be a baby,” Lily says. “You can’t be perfect at everything.”

Potter gives her a sideways look. “You think I’m perfect, eh, Evans?” he asks, that maddening smirk threatening to make an appearance.

“Shut up. I just meant - this is no different than when you managed to turn your lizard into a champagne glass, and mine still had scales. But you didn’t see me getting all grumpy, did you?”

“I thought it looked charming with the scales. Very Art Nouveau.”

Lily nearly smiles, but then stops herself, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. _Remember the exploding pumpkins,_ she tells herself. True, Potter and his lot haven’t pulled any stupid stunts since Halloween - and Lily suspects that Remus may have something to do with it - but still, this is James Potter. He probably has something up his sleeve for Christmas.

Flitwick calls an end to the lesson, and as Lily packs her bags away, she notices that Potter hasn’t moved and is still lingering by her side. 

“Are you lost?” she asks him, whirling around. “Because your mates are over there.”

“No. Not - not lost. I was just wondering - are you going home over Christmas?”

“Um. No, I’m not this year. Why?” she asks.

“Well, I’m not either,” Potter says, running a hand over the back of his neck and through his hair. “So, Flitwick is bound to test us on this after we come back after the break, so I was wondering if you’re free some time, could you help me? Practice, that is. I don’t want to look like a prat who can’t do it next year as well.”

Lily stares at him for a moment, considering.

“I’ll help you with your Transfiguration essays,” he says, smiling slightly. “Show you how to rid your glass of those pesky scales.”

Mary and Dorcas have come over, signalling for her to hurry up. Lily glances at them, and then back at Potter, who has an oddly hopeful look on his face.

“Ah - oh, fine. Yes. I’ll help you.”

“Ace,” Potter says, grinning. “Thanks a bunch, Evans.”

He returns to his friends, and Lily turns to see Mary and Dorcas staring at her, wide-eyed.

“Was that what it looked like?” Mary asks excitedly, linking arms with Lily as they leave the Charms classroom.

“What, one student who is brilliant at Charms helping another student who is absolutely pants? Yes, Mary, yes it was.”

Not missing Mary’s disbelieving expression, Lily can’t help but regret her decision already.

::

With all the work that they’ve been set, staying at Hogwarts for Christmas is not as magical as Lily always envisioned it would be. Still, with all the essays and revision she needs to get through, Lily knows that going back to Cokeworth would not have been very helpful. She needs to be where the library is, and somewhere where she can practice spells. 

Her parents had seemed understanding when she wrote to them to tell them she’d be staying over the holidays, although Petunia hadn’t replied to the separate letter that Lily had sent to her. Lily tries not to feel too bad about not going home; after all, she’s not the only one by a long-shot. In their year, only Dorcas, Moira and Remus are going home from Gryffindor, Dorcas complaining loudly that her parents are forcing her to go back, and Remus looking even more wan and exhausted than usual as his mates wave him off. Privately, Lily thinks that Remus could do with longer than two weeks off, judging by how ill he looks.

She has no idea that Severus has also stayed at Hogwarts until Christmas morning where she sees him at breakfast in the Great Hall. There’s only two smaller tables today, and Lily sits on the one that Severus is not on. He’s sat with Regulus Black, Joseph Mulciber and Evan Rosier and Lily gets the feeling her Christmas wishes won’t be appreciated at the moment. 

“I didn’t know your brother was staying over Christmas, Sirius,” Pettigrew says, reaching across Lily to grab some toast.

“No, nor did I,” Black says quietly, his gaze flickering over to his brother briefly. “He told Mother he’d be back home. Oh, well. It’ll be a relief not to be the disappointing son for a change.”

Potter and Pettigrew both laugh, but Lily frowns. She doesn’t know much about Black’s home life, but from what she’s gathered over the years she knows it’s not fantastic, and as for his relationship with his younger brother - well. Lily was at the Quidditch match between them both. That told her pretty much everything she’d needed to know.

Richie Dennison joins them for breakfast and immediately sits next to Mary once he’s spotted her. Lily has to pretend to be interested in the paper to avoid getting an eyeful of the snogging session that starts up beside her. Mary had finally gotten her wish after the Gryffindor-Slytherin Quidditch match, when her anvil-sized hints had finally dawned on Richie, and he’d asked her out. Really, Lily is pleased for her friend, but she just wishes that Mary and Richie weren’t quite so - _public_ \- with their affections.

“All right over there, Evans?” Potter asks suddenly, as Lily nearly puts her elbow in the jam jar as she leans away from Mary and Richie’s overenthusiastic display.

“It’s like watching mating season at the zoo,” Lily says, pulling a disgusted face.

Potter laughs. “I’ve already told Richie, if having a relationship interferes with his Quidditch, that’s it. We can’t be dealing with distracted Chasers.”

“Oh, yeah? Because you’re never distracted, eh, James?” Pettigrew says, waggling his eyebrows ridiculously.

Potter holds his hand up in Pettigrew’s face. “I am above the carnal interferences of mere mortals,” he says solemnly.

Black snorts. “Only because you can’t get any carnal interferences.”

“Tough luck, mate,” Pettigrew says, laughing.

“Oi,” Potter says, his solemn air dropped as he whirls on Pettigrew. “Like you can talk! What, one snog from O’Shea a billion years ago and you’re an expert?”

“At least I got one snog,” Pettigrew sing-songs. “Which, I will remind you, is one more than you - ARGH!”

Lily drops her head into her hands as Potter seizes the butter and shoves it down the back of Pettigrew’s Christmas jumper. 

It’s going to be a long two weeks.

::

On Boxing Day, Mary apologetically tells Lily that she’d promised Richie that she’d spend the afternoon with him.

“Doing what?” Lily demands. “Having a romantic stroll around the castle?”

Mary stares at her and, after a moment, Lily realises that’s exactly it.

“You’ve lived here for nearly four years!” Lily exclaims. “Surely you’ve seen everything this castle has to offer?”

“Well, it’s different when you have a boyfriend,” Mary says, and Lily wants to empty her inkwell over her. 

“What, the suits of armour are suddenly more romantic?” she asks sarcastically.

Mary shrugs. “Kinda, yeah. I mean, I’ll be back this evening - that is, if you still want me to come to Slughorn’s party with you?”

Lily groans. She’d nearly forgotten all about that stupid party. “Depends if you can bear to be away from Richie for that long,” she mutters.

Mary swoops down on Lily and gives her a hug. “I’ll see you later!” she trills, and with that, practically runs out of the portrait hole.

Lily stares around. Apart from a few Second Years and a frazzled looking Seventh Year, she’s the only one in the common room. She sighs, deciding whether she should send out her thank-you letters for her Christmas presents now, or if she should start on one of McGonagall’s essays, when the portrait door swings open again. Lily glares, thinking it’s Mary again, but it’s not. 

Potter, covered from head to toe in snow, helps a laughing Black and red-faced Pettigrew through the hole. Black shakes himself like a dog and Potter swipes both hands through his hair, sending icy droplets everywhere, before the three of them troop over to the seats by the fire. That is, where Lily is currently curled up in the squashiest armchair.

“Drip on me and I will kill you all,” she says darkly.

Potter whips around. “Evans!” he says pleasantly, when he spots her. “You look cosy.”

“I was, until a few seconds ago, when some idiots came in and brought the cold with them. What did you do, bury each other in snow?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” Pettigrew says simply, stretching his hands out to the flames.

Black flings himself down on the sofa, closing his eyes. “Don’t mind me, all. I think I’m just going to lie here until I thaw out.”

“Have any of you started any of your homework?” Lily asks, rattled at their ability to just not care about anything.

Potter smirks. “Finished my Transfiguration essay this morning, as a matter of fact.”

“Which one?” 

“The Theoretical Aspects of Cross-Species Switches,” Potter says casually, slumping down in a chair and reaching for a Chocolate Frog that lay on the coffee table in front of him. “You seem surprised, Evans.”

Lily forces her mouth closed. “I - I didn’t expect you to finish it so soon.”

Potter shrugs. “Well, luckily for you that means I have the whole day free. Plenty of time to help you with yours. If you want, that is.”

“Let me guess,” Lily says with a sigh. “I have to teach you the Summoning Charm in return, right?”

“What?” Potter asks, frowning slightly, and then his eyes widen a fraction behind his glasses, and he nods. “Oh, right. Yeah. Fair exchange and all that. So, do we have a deal?”

Lily bites her lip. She really does need to get a start on that essay, and really, she knows her own notes are lacking - 

She sighs. “We have a deal, Potter.”

::

Potter, as it turns out, has a _lot_ of books on Transfiguration theory. He never really struck her as the note-taking type, either, but he has pages upon pages of Transfiguration notes. Lily can’t help but notice that his handwriting is really quite neat as he sifts through a stack of pages, eventually stopping at a particular sheet of paper and pulling it free from the rest of them.

“Here’s my notes on the lesson McGonagall gave at the beginning of the year. She covered pretty much all the basics of Cross-Species Switches in that first lesson, so if you read through these, really you can’t go wrong. If you think of your simple Transforming Spell, right, it’s all about the modifier. Obviously it’s easier when the species are similar - rats into hamsters, swans into geese, that sort of thing - but if you focus hard enough, it’s the same general principle as turning a rabbit into a horse.”

He says all of this so casually, leaning back in his chair in the library, and Lily, for the first time in a long time, feels like a complete dunce. She blinks at him, and then stares down at his meticulously taken notes. 

“Evans? Are you all right? D’you - d’you want me to go over any of it?” he asks, gesturing at the page.

“Oh, no, it’s fine,” Lily says, her throat strangely constricted. “Thanks. These notes should be great. Do you mind if I borrow them, actually, for later? I’ve got a headache and I don’t really feel in the mood for writing this essay at all now.”

Potter shrugs. “Keep ‘em. They’re yours.”

“I’ll give them back,” Lily insists, but Potter just waves a carefree hand.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Potter asks, looking closely at her. “You look a bit -”

“I’m fine,” Lily snaps. 

“Okay, okay,” Potter says. “Sorry.”

She feels instantly bad for snapping at him. Really, this is the nicest he’s ever been to her, and it’s a little - unsettling. Plus, she hates not knowing how to do things, and she’s tried so hard in Transfiguration this year and yet she’s still predicted E’s - Potter, she knows (because he never shuts up about it) has the highest marks in their year and is destined for an O for sure, and yet - he never seems to pay attention in class! He never answers the questions - before today Lily would have bet her life he’d never even taken a single note in class. 

“I do a lot of work in my own free time,” Potter says quietly, and Lily jumps. It’s as if he read her mind. “It doesn’t just - happen, for me, you know. Not like you and Charms. So don’t worry about it.”

Lily stares determinedly at the nearest bookcase. She hears the scraping of a chair, and when she looks again, Potter has stood up. “Well, I’m going to head back to Gryffindor Tower then. If you like, I can give you my essay to look at - I’m not saying you’ll copy,” he adds quickly, when she narrows her eyes at him. “I just mean, sometimes it helps, y’know, knowing where to start and stuff? The offer is there if you want.”

After a long silence in which Lily battles internally with herself, she finds herself nodding. Potter grins.

“Great. Now, you’ve got a party to get ready for, if I’m not mistaken, so shall we?”

They walk back to Gryffindor Tower together, and after two staircases of silence, Lily finds herself asking, “How come you’re not going to Slughorn’s party? I mean - you’re obviously good at Transfiguration, and I know some would call you good on the Quidditch pitch -” She ignores the little smirk playing at his lips as she says this, and carries on, “- So how come you didn’t get an invite? Do you not wonder?”

“I don’t really care,” Potter says, shrugging. “Maybe I’m too much of a trouble-maker. You know, surprisingly enough, Evans, not everyone loves a rebel.”

“Shocking,” Lily murmurs.

Potter grins. “Anyway, Sirius will never go, so that’s me out anyway.”

“Yeah - Slughorn is really disappointed about that.”

“Doesn’t surprise me,” Potter says, a bit darkly, as they wait for a staircase to finish moving before they get on. “Slughorn was a favourite of Sirius’ cousins. I bet it really winds him up that Sirius couldn’t care less. Anyway, from what I hear, he’s invited some right arseholes this year - oh, whoops, sorry Evans. Not you, obviously, but Mulciber? And Snape too, really, talk about scraping the bottom of the barrel.”

“You just can’t help yourself, can you?” Lily asks despairingly. 

Potter just shrugs, but thankfully doesn’t say any more on the subject of Severus. They arrive back in the Gryffindor common room to find both Pettigrew and Black passed out in front of the fire, Pettigrew snoring loudly. Potter glances at them, looking almost fond, before heading towards the boy’s staircase and beckoning Lily to follow him.

“You want me to - come up to your dorm?” Lily asks uncertainly.

“Unless you want to stay here and listen to the soothing sounds of Peter,” Potter says, pausing at the bottom of the staircase.

“Right,” Lily says, and hurries after him.

The boy’s dorm isn’t like what Lily had imagined it would be. She had thought that there would be Zonko’s products piled high in a corner somewhere, a cupboard overflowing with dungbombs, butterbeer glasses on the floor. In fact, the dormitory looks remarkably - normal. Nothing incriminating in the slightest. There’s one neatly made bed, which Lily assumes is Remus’, and three unmade ones. There are Quidditch posters on the walls and photos of all four boys together, and one bed that Lily guesses to be Sirius’ has pictures of motorbikes which look as if they’ve been torn out of their Muggle Studies books. 

Lily hangs back by the door as Potter bends down in front of a trunk at the foot of his bed. Lily glances curiously at his bedside cabinet, and sees a handsome eagle feather quill that looks like it must have cost a fortune. His Quidditch uniform is hung up nearby. There’s a Honeydukes bag just about visible in the half-open drawer of the cabinet and a Broomstick-Serving Kit open on his bed. The broomstick itself is leaning by the trunk, its handle gleaming. Potter’s trunk, too, looks like it probably cost more than Lily’s parent’s _car_ \- it’s even got his initials on it, for crying out loud, in what looks like gold - and it strikes Lily now that she’s never asked about Potter’s family, or where he lives. He’s Pureblood, Lily knows that much, and yet she never hears anyone talk about the Potter’s in the same way people talk about the Black’s. They must have an outrageous amount of money too, though -

“Evans? Earth to Evans?” 

Potter is waving something in Lily’s face, and she snaps to attention. The essay. Right.

She takes it, giving Potter a small smile. “Well, thanks again for this, Potter.”

“No problem,” he says easily. “I guess I’ll see you later, Evans. Have fun at your party.”

::

As annoyed as she was earlier at Mary, Lily can’t help but feel grateful for her best friend’s presence as they make their way to Slughorn’s office together. She even manages to make Mary shut up about Richie, as soon as Lily tells her who she spent her afternoon with. Mary gapes at her, and Lily smirks to herself, knowing that will send her gossip-prone friend’s mind into overdrive. 

Before Mary can question her, however, they enter the door to Slughorn’s office and are set upon by the man himself within seconds.

“Lily! My dear girl, how wonderful to see you!”

Slughorn, very red in the face and holding a glass of sherry in one hand, grabs a glass from a silver platter that’s zooming by - it takes Lily a moment to realise that there is a house-elf underneath it, and it’s not just a tray on legs - and pushes it into Lily’s hand. Lily sniffs the contents of the glass warily, and Slughorn booms with laughter.

“Oh, my dear, come now, it’s Christmas! We should all be celebrating!”

“Everyone except me, apparently,” Mary grumbles, looking for her own drink and snatching one rather angrily from a passing house-elf.

Lily laughs, clinking their glasses together. Slughorn’s attention has been grabbed by a witch in a bright red and green hat with a sprig of mistletoe dangling on the end. Lily takes Mary by the elbow, steering her to the side of the room where they can better look at all of the other guests. Slughorn has a rather eclectic group of friends, she quickly sees: there’s a group of smartly-dressed dwarves, all huddled closely together; a well-muscled man in baby blue and white striped Quidditch robes who keeps smiling at everyone, showing dazzling teeth; a stunningly beautiful witch with dark hair nearly down to the floor. Dotted between these vibrant individuals Lily recognises her fellow students, and she quickly spots Severus, wearing black dress robes that, in her opinion, don’t look too different from his school ones. Severus has a bottle of butterbeer in one hand and is in deep conversation with - Lily’s heart sinks a bit - Regulus Black, who is wearing dress robes of deep cobalt blue.

“Odd friendship, that,” Mary comments, following Lily’s gaze.

“You think most friendships are odd,” Lily says.

“Yeah, but I mean, really,” Mary says, wrinkling her nose. “Still, maybe it’s not so odd. Sirius says his brother is awful.”

“Sirius is awful, Mary.”

“Yeah but - there’s different types of awful, Lily,” Mary says thoughtfully, taking a sip of her drink and eyeing both Regulus and Severus with great dislike over the rim of her glass. “Richie says that James and Sirius are actually all right most of the time, and, well, Remus wouldn’t hang around with them if they were so bad, would he?”

Lily thinks that Remus lets them get away with too much, but doesn’t say any of this. 

“Why are you so determined to make me like Black and Potter?” she asks with a sigh.

“I just think you should give them a chance. James especially. I mean, after today -”

“Oh not this again, Mary,” Lily says impatiently, but doesn’t get to finish because Slughorn approaches again. He’s managed to shake off the mistletoe-witch, and he’s smiling cheerily at them both, his bow tie a little askew. He turns his - somewhat bleary, Lily notices - attention to Mary.

“Hello, there! And are you a friend of Lily’s?” he asks, as if Mary hasn’t been in his class for the last few years. For one awkward moment Lily actually thinks she’s going to have to introduce Slughorn to his own student, but then he peers closer and it seems to click into place. “Ah, MacDonald, isn’t it?” Mary nods, and Slughorn beams. “MacDonald, MacDonald…hmm, now let me think…”

“She’s not from a family you’d know, Professor,” says a smarmy voice, as Mulciber suddenly appears at Lily’s side. Lily can’t help the shudder that runs over her. 

“Oh, a Muggle-Born too, eh?” Slughorn says, looking delighted, as though he’s stumbled across another exotic and rare creature. “Do you know, I was ever so surprised to find out Lily was.” 

The polite smile Lily had been forcing herself to wear freezes on her face. She knows Slughorn doesn’t mean it to sound like it did, he’s just an old fool, but still, it stings. Mulciber smiles slowly, eyeing Mary in a way she really doesn’t like.

“I suppose it goes to show, sir, that they’re not all like Evans here. She’s just a fluke.”

“Excuse me?” Lily asks coldly.

“Joseph, now, steady!” Slughorn booms, giving an uncertain laugh and laying a hand on Mulciber’s shoulder.

“Oh, I meant no disrespect, sir,” Mulciber says, a gleam in his eyes. Lily glances around, aware that a few people are watching them. Severus is among them. “I was just working out the odds. You have Evans, a Muggle-Born. You admit she’s quite talented at Potions. Must be a fluke. Because then we have MacDonald here, also a Muggle-Born - no talent. Which must be the norm. I mean to say, it’s quite rare for Muggle-Borns to be overly talented, you must agree, they’re just not born for it…”

“And we have Mulciber, Pureblood - no talent and no brains,” Lily snarls.

“Watch it, Evans,” Mulciber says quietly. “That smart little mouth of yours is going to get you into trouble one day.”

“You’re disgusting, do you know that?” Lily says, not caring that half the room is watching her now, that Slughorn has started to wheeze uncomfortably, that Severus has averted his gaze to the floor. 

“Now, Lily - Joseph - that’s enough!” Slughorn puffs, adjusting his bow tie. “If we can’t all get along - well, it’s Christmas - I’d hate to have to kick anyone out of the party.”

“It’s fine, sir, I was just leaving anyway,” Mulciber says. “Suddenly the tone of the party has lowered considerably.”

He gives Lily and Mary one last look that makes Lily’s skin crawl, and then he leaves, jerking his head at the group of Slytherin’s on his way by. Evan Rosier and Regulus Black join him, but Severus is nowhere to be seen. _Probably already left_ , Lily thinks bitterly. _Certainly he wasn’t anywhere when I needed defending._

Slughorn watches them leave, looking dejected. “Oh, well - that was - oh dear.”

“Sorry, Professor,” Lily says, even though she’s not, not in the slightest. “I didn’t mean to ruin your party.”

“Oh, nonsense,” Slughorn says, patting her hand clumsily. “Perhaps it was the mead, you know, sometimes it goes to young boy’s heads. Yes, yes, that must be it…ah, a pity…”

Still, Slughorn suddenly hails the Quidditch man with the shining teeth, and promptly takes his leave of Lily, bustling away through the crowds of people.

“Never a dull moment with you, is there?” Mary mutters, but she’s smiling. A little sadly, but still, she’s smiling.

“I am sorry,” Lily says, and this time she means it. “I didn’t want to drag you here - for that.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Mary says. “Free alcohol, right?”

“Yeah,” Lily says, grabbing another glass. “I have a feeling we’ll need it.”

Frank approaches them not long after, looking very tall above the crowd, and he places a hand on Lily’s shoulder, peering concernedly into her face.

“Winifred just told me what happened. I was in the bathroom, otherwise - are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Frank, honestly. Mulciber doesn’t bother me.”

“He’s a jumped up little shit, is what he is,” Frank growls. 

Mary nods, raising her glass. “Hear, hear.”

“Is Alice here?” Lily asks, glancing around. 

“Oh, yeah, she’s around somewhere. Slughorn loves her. Found out that she wants to be an Auror, like me, and now he can’t stop raving about her. I feel a bit sorry, leaving her with him, but I just wanted to see if you were all right.”

“Thanks, Frank,” Lily says, touched. “I’m okay. Hey, when you manage to extract Alice from Slughorn’s grip - tell her to come see me. I haven’t seen her in ages.”

“That’s girl-talk for ‘an hour or so’, but sure,” Frank says, grinning. “I better go save her. See you.”

He heads back into the crowd, head and shoulders above the rest. Lily is just wondering how long they have to stay - she’s really not in the party mood; McGonagall’s essay is looking more tempting by the minute - when a hand seizes her around the wrist. Lily whips around, her other hand going instinctively for her wand, but then she finds herself looking directly at Severus.

“Hi,” he says, dropping her hand.

She blinks at him. “Aren’t you with your mates?”

“You tell me,” he says, raising an eyebrow.

“This isn’t a time for riddles, Sev!” Lily says impatiently.

Mary, who had been absentmindedly people-watching, glances over and sees who Lily is talking to. She gives Lily a reproachful look, sighs, and then heads in the direction of the bathrooms. Lily understands that she’s been given two minutes. 

“Okay, calm down,” Severus says lowly. “I just - are you okay?”

“Wow, everyone is so concerned!” Lily says with a strangled laugh. “I can take care of myself, you know.”

“I know,” Severus says. “It’s only - Joseph isn’t to be taken lightly, Lily. You need to be careful.”

“I need to be careful?” Lily repeats. “Have you ever thought that maybe Mulciber needs to stop being such a scumbag?”

Severus’ lips twitch. “Well, yes, there is that.” He pauses, his dark eyes flickering over her. “You look nice,” he says.

“Thanks,” she mutters, running a hand self-consciously over her bare arms. “You look…formal.”

“Oh, thanks.”

“You know what I mean. You look smart.”

Severus nods. “Look, I need to be going soon,” he says quickly, ignoring the roll of Lily’s eyes. “I just wondered - you still want to do something for my birthday? Or yours? We could do something in between, if you like. I think there’s a Hogsmeade weekend somewhere between them both.”

“I - that’s actually a really good idea.”

“You sound so shocked,” Severus grumbles. He glances to his left, and Lily copies, seeing Mary weaving her way back towards them. “Right, well. I’ll see you in class, then.”

Lily waves slightly as he nods stiffly to Mary and then leaves. Without even looking at her, Lily knows that Mary has opened her mouth.

“Please, before you say anything,” Lily begs, “just - don’t, for once.”

Mary closes her mouth, looking annoyed. The crowd parts and, in the middle of the office, Lily sees that a makeshift dance floor has been made, with Frank and Alice in the center of it. A band have been assembled at the front of the room, and they strike up a jaunty tune. Lily glances at Mary, starting to grin. 

Mary stares at her. “You’re kidding, right? I thought you wanted to leave.”

“Yeah, well…” Lily trails off, shrugs. “If you can’t beat ‘em, you may as well dance, right?”

“I don’t think that’s a saying,” Mary tells her, but she’s started to smile too.

“What, are you too good to dance with me now you’ve got Richie?” Lily asks, starting to shimmy on the spot.

Mary rolls her eyes. “Oh, fine. Come on, Evans, you can be my date for the night,” she says, grasping Lily by the hand and pulling her on to the dance floor.


	40. the mandrake leaves.

_Late December 1974 - early January 1975._

“What in the name of Merlin’s left tit is taking so long?” Sirius hisses impatiently, rubbing his hands together before digging them into the pockets of his robes. It’s bloody cold outside the greenhouses, and Peter is taking an absolute age.

James shakes his head, possibly too cold to formulate a proper answer. The tip of his nose has turned red, like that ridiculous fantasy reindeer that Muggles like to plaster on Christmas cards. 

“I hope he hasn’t been grabbed by the Venomous Tentacular,” Sirius mutters, jiggling on the spot. “I’m too frozen to perform a rescue operation.”

“Wrong greenhouse, dolt,” James says, his breath billowing in front of him in icy puffs. “Although knowing Pete, the mandrakes are probably giving him a run for his money.”

“I haven’t heard them screaming,” Sirius says, cocking his head to one side, listening. There’s no sound of angry plant babies or of Peter being attacked coming from inside the greenhouse, so Sirius can only assume that Peter is taking his sweet time just to wind them up. 

They’re supposed to be on look-out duty, a post they’re not usually assigned to, and something that Sirius is planning on never doing again if he can help it. He hates the waiting, the not knowing; he’d prefer to be the one carrying things out, rather than stood outside in the cold like a ninny.

At last they hear the sound of the greenhouse door rattling open and Peter emerges, trudging through the snow, pink-cheeked, his fluffy purple earmuffs askew, but smiling. In his gloved hand he has, unmistakably, a fistful of mandrake leaves, which he waves cheerily at them as he approaches.

“Stop waving the stolen goods around, you idiot,” Sirius says, yanking Peter’s arm down. “You were ages. What happened?”

“Sprout was lurking about when I got there,” Peter explains, pulling a face. “I had to pretend to be worried about how my Singing Calycanthus was developing. Obviously I was in the wrong greenhouse to begin with, so I think she thinks I’m a bit thick -”

“Imagine,” Sirius mutters. 

“- But I got them!” Peter says triumphantly. “I hope I got enough; I didn’t want to take too many or she’d get suspicious if suddenly one mandrake was bald.”

“You did well,” James says, thumping Peter on the back. “Now, let’s get these back to the dorm. I’m freezing. Reckon these go well with a cup of tea?”

::

Mandrake leaves, they soon learn, do not go well with _anything._

They’re all piled on to James’ bed, the leaves in a bundle in front of them. All three boys eye them warily, until Peter nudges James with his elbow. James sighs, grabs a leaf, and shoves it into his mouth.

His first reaction is to spit it straight back out again, the acrid taste on his tongue unlike anything he’s had before. He gags, coughs, and tries to position the leaf so that it’s resting between his gums and isn’t launching such an assault on his taste buds. He leans back against the headboard, trying to look casual, but - judging from his friend’s expressions - failing spectacularly.

“Is it that bad?” Peter asks.

“Imagine,” James says, “your worst ever Bertie Bott. Then times it by a thousand trillion.”

“You look like you’re chewing dragon dung,” Sirius says. “Big baby.”

Without hesitation, he plucks a leaf from the pile and pops it into his mouth. James smirks at the disgusted expression that registers Sirius’ face.

“Baby, am I?” 

“My tongue’s gone fuzzy,” Sirius says thickly.

They both look at Peter. Peter looks at the mandrake leaves. Then, slowly, so slowly, he picks the nearest one and gingerly pokes his tongue out to test it. James snorts - no way is he going to let Peter get away with that - and leans forward, shoving the whole thing in Peter’s mouth, clamping his hand tightly around the other boy’s lips to prevent him from spitting it out.

“Sorry, mate,” James says cheerily - or, as cheerily as he can manage with the leaf pressed against the inside of his cheek. “It’s like ripping off a plaster, you know, better to do it quickly.”

Peter mumbles something against James’ palm. James releases his hand.

“What was that?”

“I said, you’re a wanker,” Peter says, scowling. “Eurgh. It feels like it’s trying to dissolve my tongue.”

“I think it’s best if you sort of - try to get it away from your tongue, rest it kind of - at the top. Look, when I’m talking, can you see it?”

“No,” Peter says, wrinkling his nose, “but you can smell it.”

“People are either going to find out in two seconds of being near us, or think we’ve got a terrible dental hygiene problem,” Sirius says. “This is disgusting.”

“Good thing none of us have anyone to snog on New Year’s Eve,” Peter says with a half-hearted laugh that sounds strangely strangled.

“There’s a spell to mask the smell,” James says, flipping through the pages of one of his Transfiguration textbooks. “We just have to keep casting it throughout the day and we should be fine.”

“Oh, sure,” Sirius says sarcastically, “as long as we don’t accidentally eat it with our meals, or swallow it in our sleep, or _Merlin forbid_ get too close to McGonagall.”

“Look,” James says, snapping the book closed in exasperation. “I don’t exactly think this is pleasant, all right? But it’s the only way. So we’re doing this, and complaning about it won’t make it any easier. It’s one month out of the rest of our lives. Can you handle that?”

His authoritative tone is somewhat ruined by the mandrake leaf muffling his speech, but Sirius gets the gist, his shoulders slouching.

“I never said I wasn’t going to do it.”

“Good,” James says darkly. “Because this is it now. Pete, you with me? Pete - what’s up?”

Peter is pulling a rare look of extreme concentration, his tongue poking around inside his plump cheeks. 

“I swallowed it!” he says mournfully.

James sighs and holds out another leaf, sincerely hoping this month goes quickly.

::

Peter isn’t the only one that messes up. 

In fact, all three of them learn very quickly that keeping a leaf in ones mouth for an entire month is actually rather bloody difficult. 

Sirius, on the second day - on the morning of the second day, not even a whole 24 hours, James notes in aggravation - ends up spitting his leaf out after brushing his teeth. James rushes into the bathroom, wand brandished after hearing Sirius’ howls, but instead of finding Sirius being attacked or facing an intruder, he just sees Sirius staring morosely into the sink where the mandrake leaf, mushed together with some toothpaste, swirls down the plug hole and away forever.

Meal times become a minefield. James rapidly gives up hope of ever enjoying bacon, or eggs, or steak and kidney pudding - dear Merlin he’d _kill_ for a pudding - ever again. Instead Peter, Sirius and James pick carefully at their food, taking laboriously slow mouthfuls of safe, nothing-ever-mixed-together meals. 

Peter swallows his again, with his morning tea, and James bans them all from drinking anything without straws. Of course this attracts a few concerned stares, and so they take to drinking only in the dorm, and James thinks longingly of pumpkin juice and butterbeer, all other tastes apart from the horrible leaf forgotten.

James is feeling rather proud of himself - he’s the only one still on his original leaf - when Lily Evans approaches him in the common room two days before lessons start again, and hands him back his essay.

“Thanks again,” she says, and there’s something about her smile that makes James nearly choke on his tongue. 

He says, “Ggurk,” and promptly swallows his leaf.

Evans looks at him like he’s touched in the head, and Sirius and Peter pelt him with dungbombs when they find out.

::

“We’re never going to manage this,” Peter says, laying on the floor of the dormitory in defeat, his eyes closed and a look of disgust on his face that James has come to know as the look one gets after being subjected to evil leaves. “Remus comes back today. Lessons start tomorrow. We’ll be a hundred and ten by the time we crack this.”

“We can’t give up,” James says, but even his supportive nature is waning.

There are only six mandrake leaves left. Two attempts each. They’ve wasted one whole week already, a dozen leaves, the chance to get most of it out of the way before lessons start again and anyone gets any more suspicious than they already are. 

They wait for Remus at Hogsmeade station, and he’s one of the last ones off the train. It was a full moon while he was away, and so James is ready for him to be tired, a bit worn down, but what he’s not expecting is Remus to turn up _limping,_ with a great awful gash down one cheek.

“Mum says it’ll heal,” Remus mutters when he sees them. James forces himself not to stare too much at it, and steps on Pete’s foot to get him to stop gawping. Sirius’ eyes have gone stormy, his jaw clenched. “It’s not as bad as it looks, really. I - I got out of the shackles, nearly out of the cellar, but - Dad stopped me.”

He doesn’t look at any of them, and doesn’t speak all the way up to the castle. Back in the dorm, he mumbles a sleepy “see you at dinner” and closes himself behind his curtains. 

Peter, James and Sirius scramble for the leaves, and this time James barely even winces at the taste.

::

The first few days back seem to go off without a hitch. If Remus seems to think it odd that his friends are being so quiet, that they’re being a bit cautious with their breakfast, a bit lazier than usual answering questions in class - well, he’s got his mind on other things, and he doesn’t pry. James is, in a way, grateful that he’s so distracted. 

Evans offers to practice the Summoning Spell with him again, and James, remembering the last time Evans spoke to him, keeps his tongue firmly pressed down on his leaf and shakes his head. 

Evans frowns, looking wrong-footed. “Are you - are you okay, Potter?” she asks, concern creeping in around the edges of her voice.

Any other time, James would savour this moment. Lily Evans, asking after his well-being, offering to _help_ him. As it is, he just curses the sodding leaf in his mouth and grunts an incoherent reply, turning his back on Evans and pretending to be interested in his star-chart for Divination. 

He hears Evans mutter an affronted, “Suit yourself then!” and, not long after, the door to the girl’s dormitory slam closed.

It gets harder in lessons, especially in Transfiguration, when he’s actually expected to speak.

McGonagall, as predicted, quizzes them about Cross-Species Switches and asks him a question when he’s busy doodling on a spare bit of parchment. James knows the answer, but he shrugs anyway, mumbling something to his desk. McGonagall’s lips thin dangerously; he can feel Evans staring at him, can almost imagine her disbelieving expression - James Potter, not wanting to show off his fancy Transfiguration knowledge? - but he’s saved by Dorcas Meadowes raising her hand and reeling off the answer.

McGonagall pauses, her gaze lingering suspiciously on James, before she nods briskly, giving Meadowes five points.

The following day, Peter, Sirius and James take their seats in Transfiguration at the back of the class. Remus follows, staring at them all with a slight frown on his face. James ignores him, turning his attention to the blackboard, and has to be careful not to immediately swallow his leaf in surprise at what he sees written there.

He glances quickly at Peter and Sirius, and sees they too are looking stunned. A few other students are frowning, and Moira O’Shea raises her hand.

“Uh, Professor? Excuse me, but - we’ve already covered Animagi.”

“Are you suggesting I don’t know my own syllabus, Miss O’Shea?” McGongagall asks, surveying the class severely over her spectacles.

“N-no, of course not, Professor…”

“Well then,” McGonagall carries on briskly, “in that case please get out your quills and copy down the following. Animagi will definitely come up in your O.W.Ls, so this is very important.”

::

James, on his way to swap his Transfiguration books for his Divination stuff after lunch, is barely a foot inside the dorm when he’s yanked inside by the collar of his robes.

“What the he - hello, Remus,” James says, and then clamps his mouth firmly shut. It’s been a few hours since he cast the smell concealing spell, and Remus is standing very close to him. 

Eyes darting around the room, James sees that Sirius and Peter are sat on their beds; Peter, his eyes wide and panicked; Sirius with a defiant expression on his face and, looking back up at Remus, James doesn’t think he’s ever seen him this angry.

“I had a funny thought today,” Remus says, his voice unnervingly calm. It’s at odds with the dangerous look in his eye, and James doesn’t like it one bit. “I thought to myself - _wow, my friends have been very quiet lately._ Not like them at all, I thought. No shouting in the early hours of the morning, no suggestions of any pranks. At first I thought perhaps you were all trying to play a prank on _me._ Until - until another funny thought occurred to me. In Transfiguration, actually. Imagine that. Ridiculous, really, because I told myself you _wouldn’t._ You wouldn’t be so stupid. You wouldn’t do something so utterly irresponsible and downright _dangerous._ Would you?”

“Would I what?” James asks, nonchalant, but in that split second Remus darts forward and sniffs.

Horrified, James shuts his mouth. Remus’ eyes gleam.

“You idiots!” he bursts out. “Please, tell me I am having some sort of dream, that you are not seriously undertaking one of the steps to become a _fucking Animagus._ ”

“Moony -” Sirius begins, rising off the bed.

“Don’t!” Remus snaps, lashing out with one arm as if to keep Sirius at bay, not looking at him. “Did you think I wouldn’t figure it out? Do you think I’m stupid? It’s ridiculous, because surely even you three know I wouldn’t seriously let you go through with this!”

“Why not?” James demands, all pretence dropped now.

“It’s not your decision,” Sirius says.

“Like hell it isn’t!” Remus shouts. James doesn’t think he’s ever heard Remus raise his voice before, not like this. It’s quite daunting; Peter looks like he’s about to wet his pants, and it would be sort of funny except it really, really isn’t. “Do you think it’s a laugh - turning into some other animal? Do you think it’s _fun?_ Because I can tell you now, it’s no bloody walk in the park, and if you’re doing this as just some sort of - _experiment_ \- then you can all, you can just -”

“Remus, no,” Peter says hurriedly, swapping a terrified look with James. “It’s not like that. We’re doing it - it’s for you.”

Remus glares at them all and practically throws himself down on his bed. He sits for a moment with his head in his hands, and then stares blankly up at them all.

“What are you talking about?” he asks tiredly.

“It’s, y’know,” James says, fumbling for words and coming up with nothing remotely helpful.

He hadn’t imagined it would go down like this; in all his dreamings, they’d actually accomplished it by the time Remus found out. They’d show him, bursting into their animal forms, and he’d be happy, thankful - he hadn’t expected _this._

He glances desperately at Sirius for help.

“It’s so that we can be with you,” Sirius says shortly. “On full moon nights.”

“It’s safe,” Peter says, after several long moments in which Remus gapes open-mouthed at Sirius. “Werewolf bites can’t effect animals. We - we researched and everything.”

“Moony, so much research,” Sirius says earnestly. “You would have been proud, I think.”

“Don’t,” Remus says. “Please don’t joke. I don’t think I - I need a moment to get my head around this. What - since when?”

“Second Year,” James says, sitting next to Remus and touching his arm. “Since not long after we found out.”

Remus blinks. He stares at the carpet for a long time. “Second Year,” he repeats. He looks around at them all, ashen-faced. “I - you -”

“We’re not going to give up now,” Sirius says, plonking himself down casually on Remus’ other side. “So, you’re just going to have to live with it, I’m afraid. Do us a favour and don’t turn us in? There’s a good Moony.”

He ruffles Remus’ hair, and for once Remus doesn’t have the energy to even attempt to bat him away.

“McGonagall must know,” Peter says, looking anxious. “I mean - surely it’s not a coincidence, today’s lesson?”

“I don’t care,” James says with an abrupt laugh. “Maybe she knows. Maybe she thinks we’re just doing it for a dare, seeing how long we can keep the rancid things in our mouths. All I care about is getting that book she mentioned about disguising the taste. That would have come in handy before; can’t believe we missed it.”

Remus is still looking a bit shocked, although some of the colour is returning to his cheeks. James knocks his shoulder into his, giving him a smile. After a moment, Remus returns it, if a bit hollowly. _He’ll get used to it,_ James thinks determinedly. 

“Can I ask a question?” Remus asks, his voice slightly croaky. 

“Anything,” Sirius says.

“How long do you have to keep those leaves in? Because, no offence, but you all _stink._ ”


	41. birthday blues and greens.

_Mid to late January 1975._

Severus trudges down the sludge-lined path towards the pub, nearly slipping where the snow has frozen in places, a miserable looking mixture of dirt and ice all packed together. The grey backdrop and sleeting rain does not dampen his mood, however. There’s a bag of gillyweed, given to him for a well-saved Galleon by Bobby Grant behind a statue of Uther the Unsuspecting, rustling in his pocket, and a rare thrum of excitement stirring up inside him. He enters The Hog’s Head feeling almost _jaunty_.

Lily is sat by the pitiful fire, strands of hair slicked to her neck from the dismal weather. Severus takes in the sight of her - scowling, drowned-rat looking Lily, her cheeks red and her brow furrowed - and nearly laughs.

“Lovely weather we’re having,” he says, pulling up a chair and taking a seat at the small round table with her.

Lily looks at him witheringly. There is melting sleet in her hair, tiny beads of water shining amongst the red, reflecting either the fire or her hair; or both, Severus isn’t sure.

“I let Dorcas borrow my best cloak,” she mutters. She gestures at the sodden material draped uselessly on the chair back. “This one is rubbish.”

“This’ll cheer you up,” Severus says, dropping the gillyweed on to the table decisively. He doesn’t bother with being secretive about it; this is, after all, The Hog’s Head.

Lily peers at the gillyweed, and then up at Severus. She crinkles her nose, disrupting the bridge of freckles there.

“Is that what I think it is?” she asks.

Severus’ confidence dips. He’d thought it would be a laugh, just the two of them, a birthday treat; he’s rarely rebellious in any form, and just this once, he’d thought, why not? He’s seen people his age and younger in the old rec back in Cokeworth, lighting up on the swing sets, and last year had stumbled across some Ravenclaws doing it behind Greenhouse Two. 

Jerkily, he nods. 

Lily smiles then, her green eyes flickering in the firelight, and Severus feels bold again. He smiles back.

::

“I didn’t get you anything,” Lily says, waving the joint around as she moves her hands for emphasis. The room they’re in is dimly lit, so all Severus mostly sees is the red-tipped end moving about in the gloom. 

It’s the fourth time she’s mentioned this, but Severus doesn’t point this out. Instead he shrugs, his shoulders lighter than they’ve been for a year or so.

“Don’t want anything.”

“But it’s your birthday.”

“Not until tomorrow.”

“You’re older than me,” Lily says seriously, as if the fate of the universe hinges on this very fact. “You are my _elder_.”

Severus laughs, plucking the joint from her unprotesting grasp. “A whole three weeks. So old.”

“S’like - what’s it -” Lily giggles, stretches back against the cushions, “ - corruption.”

“Pff. Hardly. Not my fault you’re gone on half a joint, even if I did pick it up.”

“Such a rebel,” she says, her tone teasing, and Severus can’t help but feel pretty pleased with himself.

The whole day has turned out remarkably well, shitty weather aside. It had been Severus’ idea to head back to the castle, half worried that Regulus or someone would turn up and make things awkward, but they’d managed to avoid running into anyone they knew the whole way back, and now they’re - here.

Severus glances around the room they’re in, not for the first time, trying through the pleasant haze in his mind to place where here is. Severus doesn’t think he’s ever been in this room before; it’s not at all like a classroom, no desks or blackboards to be seen, just cushions and squishy, low-down armchairs, perfect for sprawling out with some gillyweed. It’s warm and comfortable and secluded, and just what Severus needed, so he doesn’t worry too much about where it seemed to suddenly spring from.

He squints, slightly fuzzy-eyed, at the rolled up gillyweed between his thumb and forefinger, and then lazily passes it back to Lily. Perhaps that’s enough, he muses, if he’s started imagining that rooms are springing up from nowhere. He focuses his attention on Lily, who is trying to blow smoke rings (and failing), and hums contentedly. 

He’s always known that Lily is more than just the model student Hogwarts sees. He thinks fondly of when they were ten years old, and some older Cokeworth lads had been picking on him as he walked home with Lily. They’d laughed at his clothes, called his dad names (which he didn’t mind) and called his mum worse (which he did) until Lily had grabbed a clod of dirt and threw it at them, hitting the biggest and stupidest one right on the forehead. Running away as fast as his spindly legs could carry him, Lily’s laughter ringing in his ears and the shouts of angry boys just behind them, Severus had been scared; after, skidding to a halt in an alleyway just off Ashby Lane, his heart hammering against his chest, Severus had felt like he could take on the world if Lily was there with him.

It’s times like these, when she’s breaking the rules, doing what she knows she shouldn’t (flying off the swings; picking fights with boys; getting tears in her dresses after climbing her neighbours wall to pick the apples off their trees; smoking gillyweed in a mysterious room) that Severus thinks he misses her most. The real Lily. The adventurous, up-for-anything Lily. His Lily.

“D’you ever miss being ten?” he asks into the silence.

Lily is concentrating so much on her smoke rings that she doesn’t answer for a while. In the end she gives up, sighing. “What’s that? Oh. Nah, not really. What’s there to miss?”

“Oh - well, there’s - “ _Us_ , he thinks. “Don’t know, really. Simpler, wasn’t it?”

Lily looks thoughtful, a little cross-eyed. “No magic, though.”

“Well -” Severus hesitates. Decides, after a moment, that he’s not stoned enough. “No, suppose there wasn’t.”

::

On the morning of Severus Snape’s fifteenth birthday, he debates with himself about skipping breakfast altogether. On everyone else’s birthday, he’s been present at the table when owls jostle for space, all trying to deliver their cards and presents first. It usually causes a great scene, everyone craning their necks to see who has been given what this year. Jacob Yaxley received about thirty different cards from various family members, so much that they’d ended up in the milk jugs and knocking over the toast rack; Evan had been given a top of the range broomstick, landing smack-bang in the middle of the table for all to see, and he didn’t even play Quidditch (Evan had shrugged like it was no big deal, said that it was just for something to do when he’s bored); and on his birthday just gone, Barty had what looked like a year’s supply of Honeydukes chocolate sent to him, at least fifty different types, in a box that looked like it cost more than Severus would even like to guess. All of this is not even mentioning Regulus, whose presents are probably so numerous and so grand that it would be obscene to even deliver them in the Great Hall. 

As the delivery owls swoop in, Severus concentrates intently on his porridge, and thinks that perhaps no one will send him anything this year, that he can just not mention anything and no one will need to know that it’s his birthday at all. Really he wants to get breakfast over and done with and get on with the day; his timetable is quite good today: double Potions and Defence Against the Dark Arts, and Ancient Runes and Care of Magical Creatures in the afternoon. 

A small grey owl lands in front of him. Severus glances around quickly before snatching the envelope from its beak, shooing the thing away. 

“What’s that?” Regulus asks at once, peering over in interest. It’s not often that Severus gets anything in the post.

“From my mother,” Severus says vaguely, opening it.

It’s a simple card reading “with best wishes on your birthday” in his mother’s shaky handwriting. Severus doesn’t even bother to check the envelope to see if there’s anything else she sent him, just shoves the card in his bag, but he’s not fast enough.

“You never said it was your birthday!” Regulus says.

Barty and Joseph look up from their breakfasts. Severus, uncomfortable under their stares, shrugs.

“Surely it can’t have escaped your attention that I get older every year.”

“Yes, but I didn’t know the date,” Regulus says impatiently. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“It’s nothing to be concerned about,” Severus says. “Anyway. Have you done Slughorn’s essay, Joseph?” 

Regulus won’t be ignored, however. Before Joseph can answer, Regulus says, “Well, what did your mother send you? What about your father? What did you get?”

“You saw what I got,” Severus says, his voice low.

“I saw that card, yes, but what about your presents?” 

“Ah, Regulus,” Barty says, loudly, and Severus feels a stab of gratitude that Barty has an iota more tact than Regulus does, “pass the marmalade, would you?”

Regulus frowns, looking between Barty and Severus, until it clicks into place. His cheeks take on a pink tinge; Severus would feel sorry for him, if he wasn’t such an entitled Pureblood idiot the vast majority of the time.

“Sorry,” Regulus says, coughing slightly. “I didn’t mean -”

“It’s fine,” Severus says quickly. 

He hates times like this, when the differences between him and his friends are laid out before them all, the stark contrasts of their lives apparent for all to see. He eats the rest of his porridge in silence and is just thinking of heading to Potions early when something happens that makes everything ten times worse.

“Happy birthday, Sev!”

It’s Lily, standing behind him, an envelope and a present in her grasp. Severus thinks of all the times she’s been stupidly brave, and thinks that this - standing at the Slytherin table, a grin on her face and holding out a brightly wrapped package to him while his friends all glare - is probably right up there with hitting that boy with mud when they were ten.

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

“Well, it is someones birthday,” Lily says, laughing. “Did you forget?”

He stands up, pulling her away from the table. “Lily, I’ve told you before - Joseph and the others -”

“Are prats,” Lily says, unconcerned. “What the hell is the matter with you? It’s just a present. You treated me for my birthday -”

“With gillyweed,” Severus says, lowering his voice even more, barely moving his lips. “I never got you a real present. It wasn't even on your birthday. You shouldn’t have, I can’t - I can’t return the gesture -”

“Sev, you don’t need to. Honestly - I just enjoyed us hanging out that night. I wanted to get you a present. There’s no need to freak out like this.”

Severus shoots a look over her shoulder. Joseph, Barty and Regulus are getting to their feet, making their way towards them. Lily turns to see what he’s looking at and then narrows her eyes at him. 

“Fine,” she says, shoving the parcel and card into his hands. Caught off-guard, Severus steps back with the force of it. “Happy birthday.”

Severus doesn’t call after her; it’s too late anyway, as the others have reached him. Joseph looks at the present with a sneer.

“What did the Mudblood get you?” he asks. “I hope it’s been suitably sanitised.”

Regulus and Barty laugh. Severus doesn’t. The present feels heavy in his hands, but before he can start to think of what it is he stuffs it into his bag along with his mother’s card.

“Some rubbish or other,” he says indifferently. “It’s no matter.”

“She really should stop embarrassing herself with the way she pesters you,” Joseph carries on, shooting a general look of loathing over to the Gryffindor table. “I don’t know why you put up with it. There’s a time and a place for being a gentleman, and being continuously hounded by her sort would drive me to extremes.”

“Come on,” Severus mutters, choosing to ignore his comments. “I don’t want to be late for Slughorn.”

::

Lily ignores him upon entering the Potions classroom, sweeping past him to go and sit with Meadowes and MacDonald, although she makes her feelings very clear regardless. They’re working on Anti-Fatigue Potions, and from his bench Severus can hear Lily chopping her salamander scales with force. Her shoulders are squared, her face set with determination as she flings her ingredients into her cauldron with a heavy splash. 

“Careful, Severus,” Slughorn’s voice says suddenly, and Severus flinches; he hadn’t heard the teacher approach. Slughorn is peering at his potion. “I think you’ve added a few too many drops of toad secretion there. Concentrate, now! Can’t have Miss Evans overtake you as head of the class, can we?”

Slughorn gives a hearty laugh, not noticing how hard Severus is gripping his pestle, and then walks away to inspect the other student’s attempts, still chuckling to himself. Teeth gritted, Severus glances up to see Lily stirring her cauldron with a look of pure concentration on her face, although Severus is sure he saw a flicker of a triumphant smile on her face at Slughorn’s comment.

“Well done everyone!” Slughorn calls as he makes his way to stand at the front of the classroom once more. “I can see some very good effort going on here. How about we make it a bit more interesting, hm? Twenty five points to the brewer of the best Anti-Fatigue Potion!” He claps his hands together, bouncing on the balls of his feet, as most of the class groan - but not Lily. For the briefest of seconds, she glances towards Severus, and he recognises the glint in her eye, the challenging expression. 

Slytherin and Gryffindor are practically level with each other in terms of House points; this extra twenty five will certainly tip the scales one way or another. Most of the class are aware of this fact, and there’s a distinct increase in movement all around the dungeon as people speed up their chopping, slicing and stirring. 

“Look at the smug bastard,” Joseph murmurs, nodding at Slughorn, who definitely has a pleased smirk on his face as he resumes prowling between benches. “You can’t let Gryffindor win, Severus. We need those points.”

Severus nods, although he’s not worried much about the competition. A few rows in front, Pettigrew’s potion is spitting blue sparks as he desperately attempts to fan it with his hands. Lupin is frowning into his cauldron, a sag to his shoulders, and even Black and Potter are being uncharacteristically quiet as they tend to their own potions. Severus can’t help but smile; Black and Potter may be quicker with their wands, but they lack the patience and finesse of potion-brewing.

The rest of the double lesson passes without much incident. Everyone is too intent on their Anti-Fatigue Potions to talk, and after forty minutes, Severus is exhausted. He’s pleased that his potion has turned the correct bright blue colour, the consistency smooth with just a few bubbles on the top. Joseph’s is blue too, but darker, and he keeps shooting envious looks at Severus’ cauldron. Pretending to need more supplies from the cupboard, Severus crosses the room and manages to sneak a peek at everybody else’s efforts. Black, he is pleased to note, has abandoned his own cauldron and is now murmuring instructions into Lupin’s ear; Pettigrew’s has turned the colour and consistency of mud. Even the Slytherin’s aren’t faring any better: Laura Macmillan’s hair is a frizzy, frantic mess as she stirs her potion (the wrong way, Severus notes) and Matilda Rowle isn’t even bothering, instead sending notes to Jacob Yaxley when Slughorn’s back is turned. 

As Severus comes out of the supply cupboard, he deliberately heads back to his bench so that he has to pass Lily’s table. She’s talking to her friends, nodding at something Meadowes is saying, absentmindedly stirring her potion, looking completely in control and at ease - hers has turned the correct colour, Severus sees, and he feels a strange combination of pride and jealousy as he goes back to his cauldron.

“All right class, that’s it! Time is up!” Slughorn calls. “Put your wands down please and everyone step in front of their cauldrons so that I can examine your potions!”

Slughorn makes a show of it as usual, a lot of tut-tutting if he’s displeased and great gasps of surprise if he does see one that looks half decent. He proclaims Pettigrew and Lupin’s a disaster, gives Joseph a sympathetic pat on the back that makes Joseph’s eye twitch, and - to Severus’ delight - passes over Potter’s with a brief, disinterested “passable”. Slughorn smiles broadly when he reaches Severus and gives him a wink on his way by. 

Good, Severus thinks, relaxing. We could do with those points.

Slughorn gets to Lily’s table last and gives a crow of delight, actually clapping his hands together in glee. Severus freezes in the act of putting his slightly wonky scales back in his bag and turns to watch as Slughorn takes a tiny ladle out of the pocket of his waistcoat and takes a sip of Lily’s potion.

“Well, I think any more than a sip of that, Miss Evans, and I’ll be ready to run five marathons! Really, really well done. Take twenty five points for Gryffindor!”

Severus’ hands ball into fists as Lily’s friends beam at her and Potter shouts, “Nice one, Evans!” across the classroom. Severus wants to throw something. 

“Biased git,” Joseph says in his ear, glowering at Slughorn. 

Severus nods, unable to look away as Lily starts packing her things away, her face flushed but still smiling. He waves Joseph off and waits until everyone has left the classroom before he approaches Slughorn’s desk.

“Ah, Severus, still here? Did you want something, my boy?”

“Yes, sir,” Severus says, trying to keep his tone polite. “I was just wondering - that is, I wanted some feedback, sir. About my Anti-Fatigue Potion. You see, I’m struggling to see where I went wrong, and -”

Slughorn smiles gently. “Of course, Severus. It was just a slight issue of your measurements. Too much toad secretion and a few too many hairs of hare, and well, you know how tricky potions are, and how precise they must be! Have you got your own scales, or do you use school ones?”

Severus feels heat rush to his face. “I have my own,” he says stiffly, addressing Slughorn’s desk. He doesn’t mention that he’s had the same set since his first year at Hogwarts, and even that was his mother’s hand-me-down. 

He’s so angry that he skips lunch and heads down to the Slytherin dungeon, bursting into his dormitory and flinging his bag down. It hits the stone floor with a loud clang and Severus blinks for a moment at it before remembering Lily’s present is in there. He fishes it out and contemplates throwing it away before his curiosity gets the better of him. Sitting himself on his bed, Severus rips open the paper it’s wrapped in and then pulls off the box packaging. 

For a long while he simply stares at the present, wishing he had thrown it out. Or better, that Lily had never bothered in the first place. Severus gets up and walks swiftly over to his school trunk. His hands slightly shaking, he lifts the lid and throws the brand new, gleaming set of silver scales in to the bottom of the trunk before slamming it closed.

::

On Lily’s fifteenth birthday, Severus doesn’t approach her at breakfast. He doesn’t even speak to her in any of their classes, even though they’re with each other for most of the morning. Professor Kettleburn shows then unicorns in Care of Magical Creatures and Severus lingers at the back with the rest of the boys as one of the unicorns nuzzles into Lily’s hair, her laugh reverberating in Severus’ mind.

He hasn’t spoken to her about the scales; hasn’t known what to say. They’re still hidden guiltily at the bottom of his trunk in his dormitory. 

At dinner Potter and his friends levitate a giant treacle tart - Lily’s favourite - in front of her and all of Gryffindor burst into a round of “Happy Birthday”. Severus expects Lily to tell Potter to shove off, that she hates this sort of attention, but as he watches Severus sees Lily smiling at Potter, and suddenly finds he has no apetite. 

He waits for Lily outside the Great Hall and is extremely thankful when she comes out minus her friends and minus Potter. She stops short at the sight of him, frowning.

“What are you lurking about for?”

“You,” he answers. “I wanted to say - happy birthday.”

“Is that all you have to say?” she asks, crossing her arms and looking appraisingly at him.

He sighs. “No. Also - sorry. Sorry about the other week. I was out of order. And thank you for the scales.”

“Well, seems like you need them,” she says coolly.

Severus blinks, looks down at his feet, and hears Lily sigh heavily.

“I didn’t mean that,” she says. “I’m just so tired of all this, Sev. I don’t know if I can carry on like how we are. Our lives are totally different now. Your friends are horrible, and mine -”

“-are James Potter,” he mutters.

Lily raises an eyebrow. “We’re not _friends_ as such. He’s just - not so bad all the time. We’re in the same House, it’s nice that we can actually have a conversation that doesn’t end in arguments. I’d forgotten what that’s like.”

Severus gropes around for a comeback, but finds he doesn’t have one. He nearly jumps when Lily reaches out and places her hand on his arm. When he looks up at her, her eyes are gentle, and understanding, and for a moment Severus hates her.

“I have to go. Dorcas and Mary are throwing me a surprise party, and I have to pretend not to know about it. So - I’ll see you around at some point. Bye, Sev.”

He nods mutely, going back to staring angrily at the floor, and doesn’t move until the sounds of her footsteps die away.


	42. the art of dating.

_February 1975._

The Gryffindor common room is strangely quiet for a Saturday morning. 

Remus, settling himself into his favourite armchair, carefully positions his Arithmancy book on his lap whilst also cradling a warm cup of tea to his chest, but he keeps glancing around the room. Frank and Alice are nearby on a table to themselves, strewn with books and papers, but their eyes are glazed and Frank seems in danger of nodding off. Alfie is playing a game of chess with his friends, lethargically prodding his knight along. Richie Dennison is asleep on a sofa at the back of the room, _The Standard Book of Spells Grade 5_ over his face, and the whole common room has a lazy feel to it. 

It’s been a blustery sort of week, leaving the students to battle their way through the courtyards and across the castle grounds with their heads bowed against the winds, and even as Remus looks out of the window he can see the first drops of rain beginning to blur the glass. It only adds to the sleepy atmosphere, the steady beat of the rain drumming a soothing melody against the windowpane. 

Remus stretches, his muscles feeling tight - the full moon is three days away - and tries to focus on his Arithmancy work, but the words aren’t penetrating his sleepy mind and he’s read the same sentence four times over before he gives it up as a bad job. Not for the first time, he wonders where his friends are. He’d seen them at breakfast, and while Peter had been happy to chat away as normal, Sirius and James had been strangely subdued over their bacon and eggs. Remus can’t even blame the mandrake leaves - they’d all finished with that a week ago, and now the soggy remains of the leaves are in vials wrapped up in three pairs of Remus’ socks; every time Remus opens his trunk and sees them his stomach squirms in equal parts nervousness, guilt and pure exhilaration at the thought of what his friends are doing for him. 

Their silence hadn’t gone unnoticed by the school populous though; many thought it had been a prank of some sort, a foreboding build-up to something, the unnatural calm before the almighty storm. Of course, James, Sirius and Peter had been only too happy to go along with this consensus, and whenever anyone asked them why they were taking a vow of silence, they’d only adopt an expression of great mystery and shake their heads solemnly, as if speaking of their reasons would bring about the downfall of mankind itself.

Remus had even gotten in on the action. “Ah, they could tell you,” he’d say. “But then of course, they’d have to kill you,” and whichever poor sod had asked would skitter away, wide-eyed and mouth hanging open in awe.  


“We should keep it up, even after we’re done with these sodding leaves,” Sirius laughed. “Keep people on their toes.”

“Sh, enough talking,” James had ordered, and that had been that, although now Remus is starting to suspect that his friends are actually carrying on with the ruse just to unsettle people. 

Suddenly, the portrait hole opens again and Peter enters the common room, his hair and robes damp from rain. He stares at Remus in surprise.

“What are you doing here?” Peter asks, looking oddly shifty. “Aren’t you helping James and Sirius?”

“No, I - wait, what? Helping them do what?”

Peter’s eyes go wide. “Oh. Uh, they’re down in the laundry room. A prank or something. They wanted me to go along, but I’m - I’m busy.”

Remus frowns. “Busy? What are you doing?”

Under Remus’ stare, Peter twists his hands together nervously, and then says, all in a rush, “I - well, don’t laugh, all right? But - I was going to find Michelle Warburton and ask her if she wants to go to Hogsmeade with me for the Valentines Day weekend.”

Remus blinks, and then, pushing the fact that his mates are off devising a prank without him, he smiles. “I think that’s great, Peter. Why would I laugh?”

“James and Sirius might,” Peter mutters. “Thought I’d do it, you know, quick like, while they’re not around to watch me balls it up or watch her laugh in my face.”

“Michelle is really nice. She wouldn’t do that.”

Peter smiles, smoothing his damp hair back against his forehead, making a bit of it stick up. “Thanks. I’m just gonna go - freshen up. Change into something dry, you know, she might appreciate that, haha. I think she’s in the library; she normally studies this time on a Saturday.”

Remus opens his mouth to ask just how Peter has become so familiar with Michelle Warburton’s weekly routine, and then decides he probably doesn’t want to know. Instead he gives Peter his best encouraging expression, who grins back at him before hurrying up to the boy’s dormitory. 

::

“We should have invited Moony,” James says, pulling a disgusted face as he digs through the pile of Slytherin laundry. “He has a strong stomach for this sort of stuff.”

Sirius flicks his hair out of his eyes impatiently, intent on the job at hand. “Just try not to imagine the fact that any moment you might come into contact with Snivelly’s pants, and you’ll be fine.”

James looks like he might be sick. “Oh, gross. Why didn’t we invite Remus again?”

“Because, he’s probably still sore about the telling off he got from Evans from the prank at Halloween. Anyone who cares more about the feelings of a girl than the noble sport of pranking does not get invited to put Itching Dust in the Slytherin laundry.”

Here he gives James a shrewd look, who hastily drops his gaze and continues rummaging about in the pile of robes. 

“I don’t care what Evans thinks,” he says defensively.

“Good,” Sirius says darkly, and then, “Ah - here we go.” 

From the laundry, Sirius unearths a set of robes and shows James the carefully monogrammed letters stitched on to the inside: _R.A.B._

“What are you going to do with them?” James asks. “I thought the plan was to just to douse the whole lot and watch the Slytherin’s itch themselves raw in the morning?”

“You’ll see,” Sirius says, eyes sparkling. “Pass the Dust, would you?”

“Where’s Peter?” James asks, after they’ve given the Slytherin school robes a thorough coating of Itching Dust and are now looking for the Quidditch kits. James peers around like he’s startled that Peter isn’t behind him, as if he’s just realised the other boy is absent.

“Oh, I invited him along, but he said something about Charms homework. He went bright red though, and I know for a fact he finished Flitwick’s essay the other day, so my bet is he’s off stalking Michelle Warburton.”

Sirius says all this with an air of great casualness, but James pauses with a handful of powder over the mound of dark green Quidditch robes below him, looking at Sirius as if he’s sure he’s misheard.

“Wait - what? Peter - _Michelle Warburton?_ ”

Sirius shrugs. “He likes her. Told me a while ago. Honestly, it’s like the whole school has gone mad these days.” He shoots James another significant look, and James pretends to have to tie his shoelace to avoid his accusing stare.

“Well, good for Pete. If he gets a date, that is,” James says after straightening up. 

Sirius has his wand held over what James recognises as Regulus’ Quidditch robes, muttering something. He smirks to himself after, flinging the robes back in the pile and then chucking in a handful of Itching Dust just for good measure. For a long while he doesn’t reply, and then when he looks up and sees James staring at him expectantly, he says, “I suppose. It’s - whatever. Come on, we better get going before the elves turn up for this lot.” He jerks his thumb at the pile of innocuous looking clothes, and leads the way from the laundry room. 

James follows at a bit of a jog, and then asks, curiously, “I take it you don’t want a date for Valentine’s Day then?”

Sirius stops so suddenly that James slams into his back. “Why?” Sirius asks in a low voice, once James has regained his balance and readjusted his glasses. “Are you offering to take me out?”

“I couldn’t cheat on Remus like that; think of what it could do to Peter’s upbringing,” James answers swiftly, but when he wheels around, Sirius doesn’t look amused.

“Why is everyone bloody obsessed with girls and dating recently?” Sirius looks over James imperiously. “Don’t tell me I’ve lost you to it as well.”

James shifts his weight from one foot to the other. They’ve made it as far as the Entrance Hall, and a gaggle of girl Ravenclaws pass by. James watches them go out of the corner of his eye; he doesn’t really want an audience for this conversation. 

“Well, you may as well know,” he says, regaining some confidence once the girls have gone, and deciding he may as well get this over with, because it’s Sirius and Sirius finds out everything anyway. “I was planning on asking Lily to Hogsmeade.”

“Evans?” Sirius demands, looking at James as if he’s grown tentacles, which James thinks is a bit unfair, really. It’s not the stupidest idea he’s ever had. 

“Yeah,” James says, raking a hand through his hair and staring at one of the lanterns flickering nearby. “I mean, sometimes - we get on all right. Like when I helped her with Transfiguration, and she’s ace at Charms, and I thought -”

“What, that she’d forgive you for all the stupid stuff you pull with Snape?” Sirius asks bluntly.

“Snape’s got nothing to do with this!” 

“Oh, James,” Sirius says, almost condescending; James twitches at the tone, feels the desire to punch him. “Of course Snape has something to do with it. He’s her best mate, isn’t he? I wouldn’t go out with someone who put Itching Dust in _your_ underwear.”

“Well - thanks, but - that’s not really - they had a row recently, and she’s been upset. Remus mentioned.”

“And a date with you is the cure?” Sirius asks with a harsh laugh.

James glares at him, and Sirius holds his hands up mockingly.

“Don’t get shirty with me. I just don’t get it. You have nothing in common. Earlier you said you didn’t care what she thinks.”

“I don’t - I don’t care, I just - I think she’s nice, and it’s Valentine’s Day -”

Sirius shakes his head. “Well, let me know how it goes,” he says, and then abruptly turns and starts walking away again. 

James stares after him for a moment, an unpleasant squirming in his stomach, until a flock of Second Years pass, shooting him curious looks. He starts into action, catching Sirius on the stairs.

“You don’t think I should do it?” he asks, aiming to keep his tone cool.

“Whatever,” Sirius says carelessly. “Your funeral, innit?”

::

The dormitory door bangs open and Remus, lying on his bed and staring up at his canopy, turns his head slightly to see Sirius stride in. 

“Oh,” Sirius says, stopping in the middle of the room and blinking at Remus. “Didn’t know you’d be here.”

“I live here, more often than not,” Remus says slowly, sitting up and taking in Sirius’ appearance; he looks annoyed by something, and Remus scoots over so that there’s room next to him for Sirius to sit down. 

Sirius does, putting his elbows on his knees and dropping his head into his hands. 

Remus had been planning on giving Sirius a hard time for not inviting him along to the prank they were planning, but thinks now may not be the time.

“Where’s James?” he says instead.

Sirius’ responding grunt is enough to let Remus know he’s said the wrong thing.

“He’s - you haven’t got him stuck somewhere again, have you? Like the time in the fourth floor bathroom?”

“No,” Sirius mutters at last. “Although he probably is in a bathroom somewhere, hopefully trying to flush himself down the toilet in shame.” Remus continues to stare at him questioningly, until Sirius says, “We had a fight. Kind of. There wasn’t any hitting, so I’m not too sure, but I think it was a - a disagreement, maybe.”

“Hmm. A disagreement, maybe. What about?”

“About Evans. Well, it started off about Peter and Michelle Warburton - which, did you know, he’s asking her out, can you believe? - and then James got all sappy, and said it was great, and I said that everyone is obsessed with dating, and James said he was going to ask Evans out, and then we got into it about Snape a bit, and then James asked my opinion and then just sulked the whole way back to Gryffindor Tower.”

Remus nods, digesting all this. Sirius is looking at him in indignation, clearly waiting for Remus to take his side and proclaim how awful James is being. Remus, however, just manages a half-shrug. 

“Oh,” he says.

“ _Oh_?” Sirius repeats incredulously. “Our friends are going mad, and all you’ve got is _oh_?”

“Mad?” Remus says, trying not to smile. “It’s just - being a teenager, isn’t it? My mum got me leaflets over the summer; I can lend them to you, if you like.”

“No, thanks,” Sirius says with a shudder. “And it’s not all teenagers. I’m not like it. You’re not like it - are you?”

“What?” Remus says, caught off-guard. Sirius is staring at him far more intensely than he was before, and Remus fights the urge to jump to his feet to put some distance between them. “I - I don’t know, I think some people are quite - all right, I suppose - er -”

Sirius is boggling at him. Remus can feel himself flushing, and gropes around for a change of subject, but he has a feeling that there’s going to be no getting away from this.

“Do you fancy Evans too?” Sirius asks abruptly.

Remus can’t help the laugh that ripples out of him. “Lily? No!”

“Oh.” Sirius stops staring at him at last, to Remus’ relief, and instead scowls at the wall. “I thought, because you’re quite friendly - anyway. Who, then? Who do you you think is all right?”

“God, Sirius, I don’t know,” Remus says, hoping the constriction in his throat can be passed off as irritation. “Just - people, you know, generally.” He waves his hands in the air, not even sure what point he’s supposed to be articulating, but Sirius seems satisfied, and nods.

“Right, okay. People. Gotcha.”

He still looks a bit troubled, and Remus sighs internally. It’s three days to the full moon, and he really can’t be dealing with this kind of conversation right now.

“It’s not - unusual, you know,” he says softly. “If you don’t - feel it, or whatever, yet - or, or ever I suppose.” Remus is well aware he’s rambling now, but Sirius looks genuinely worried, and Remus wants to fix that. “I mean, you’re fifteen, and so what if Peter and James want to ask people out, it doesn’t matter, really, does it?”

“James and I normally share everything,” Sirius says at length. 

Remus quirks one eyebrow. “I don’t think that extends to girls, Sirius.”

Sirius whacks him on the arm. “Pervert. I didn’t mean that. Anyway - Evans will say no to him, so there’s not much point worrying.”

“You didn’t tell him this, did you?” Remus asks anxiously. It’s probably true, but James doesn’t need to hear it right before plucking up the courage to ask a girl out. Sirius looks at him shiftily, and Remus sighs aloud. “Go find him and apologise,” he says. “It’ll make you feel better. He probably is trying to flush himself down a toilet somewhere, so he needs you to be there for him.”

Sirius squares his shoulders, nods. “Yeah. I can do that. Best mate and all that.” He claps Remus heartily on the shoulder as he gets to his feet. “Thanks, Moony. You’re a pal.”

“I know,” Remus says, smiling weakly.

::

Peter pauses to check his reflection in the glass of a nearby book cabinet, gives his hair a quick comb through with his fingers, and then steps out from behind the Ancient Runes section of the library, hoping his legs don’t look as wobbly as they feel.

Michelle is sat with a friend, some Ravenclaw Peter probably should know the name of by now. Peter opens his mouth, and then promptly shuts it when he realises he has no idea what to say. In his preparations for this moment, Peter hadn’t thought about the possibility of Michelle having a friend with her, someone else to witness his embarrassment. 

Bugger all.

“Um,” he says. In the dusty silence of the library, it comes out very loud, and he wants to slither away as soon as Michelle and her friend look up at him.

“Peter,” Michelle says, surprised. “What are you doing here?”

The Ravenclaw arches an eyebrow, looking at Peter as if to say she knows exactly what he’s up to. It’s not encouraging in the slightest.

Peter wipes his hands nervously on his robes and decides the best tactic here is to ignore her completely. Instead he focuses on Michelle, and then immediately wishes he hadn’t as they lock eyes and he feels heat rush up under his collar.

“Studying,” he says. “You know how it is.”

“You don’t take Runes,” the Ravenclaw says, narrowing her eyes at him.

 _Who are you?_ Peter wants to yell in frustration. _Were you put here to make my life difficult?_

“Haha, yeah, I mean - no, I don’t - fascinating though, isn’t it, Runes…”

“Can we help you with something?” Michelle asks.

Peter wants to yank his hair out of his scalp; surely it won’t be as painful as this is. It wasn’t this hard asking Moira out, although he’s shared a common room with Moira for years and knows a bit more about her. All he really knows about Michelle is that she’s got nice looking blonde hair, she’s good at Herbology, and apparently takes Ancient Runes. It’s a start, he supposes, and she’s smiling at him at least. 

“It’s Valentine’s Day soon,” he says. Pretending not to hear the Ravenclaw’s disdainful tcheh, he carries on, “I wondered if you’d, ah, like to go to Hogsmeade with me?”

“Just you?” the Ravenclaw demands, before Michelle can even open her mouth. “Not going to bring along your three stooges?”

“Olivia,” Michelle says, nudging her friend.

Peter blinks. “Er - you mean James, Remus and Sirius? They don’t come everywhere with me, you know. The toilet is a pretty good example…”

To his surprise, Michelle laughs. He grins back at her, feeling his confidence rise. Olivia just scowls at him and tugs her textbook closer towards her, muttering something under her breath to the pages. James would probably make some witty comment to make her feel foolish; Remus would adopt an unnaturally polite expression and say something like, “I’m sorry, didn’t quite catch that, could you speak up a bit?” and then say something sarcastic in reply; Sirius would probably knock the book out of her hands and laugh at her. Peter, however, thinks that while he’s got Michelle laughing at him - in a good way, he hopes - he may as well seal the deal when it looks like it’s going his way.

“So, what do you reckon?” he asks. “I promise I won’t take you to Puddifoot’s. That place is awful. I went there once and wanted to blind myself with a fork within two minutes.”

“I thought I was the only one who thought that,” Michelle says, with another giggle that makes Peter stand a bit taller. “All right, you’ve convinced me. Yes, I’ll go on a date with you.”

“Ace,” Peter says happily, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. 

Michelle tucks a stray bit of hair behind her ear, and unless Peter’s very much mistaken, she’s actually blushing. “I’ll see you in Herbology then.”

Olivia rolls her eyes so hard that Peter is surprised they don’t fall out of her head, but he doesn’t care. He gives Michelle a cheery wave, resists the temptation to give Olivia the finger, and makes his way out of the library, whistling a tune.

::

Peter doesn’t get to tell his friends about Michelle that day; they all seem a bit subdued, none of them really talking to anyone, and so Peter decides just to leave them to it and spends the evening playing Exploding Snap with Frank Longbottom instead. 

He’s going to announce it at breakfast the following day, but there’s a diversion in the form of half of Slytherin entering the Great Hall itching themselves like a band of monkeys. 

“You guys should really wash more,” James calls over to them. “I mean - personal hygiene, it’s not a difficult concept, am I right?” he asks, looking around the table to general approving laughs from the Gryffindors. 

Joseph Mulciber advances towards him, one hand still uncontrollably scratching his arm and looking murderous. “You little -” he begins, but never gets to finish, as just then Regulus’ robes turn a bright, shocking pink, causing a slight distraction.

The Great Hall erupts into laughter and Regulus blushes nearly the same colour as his robes. His lips clamped furiously together, he scowls over at Sirius, who is holding his sides from laughing so hard, and then he storms out of the Hall. The rest of the Slytherins follow suit not long after, still itching, and James leans over the jug of pumpkin juice to high-five Sirius. A few seats down, Meadowes, MacDonald and Evans are looking over at them, Evans in particular seeming distinctly unimpressed, but neither James nor Sirius appear to notice.

“Mr Potter,” McGonagall says crisply, suddenly at their table. “Mr Black. You seem to find this very amusing. I don’t suppose you know anything about why most of Slytherin House are suddenly incurably itchy?”

“No, Professor,” James says, his eyes going wide behind his glasses.

“Not a crime to find it funny, though, is it?” Sirius asks lazily. “I always thought pink was my brother’s colour.”

“Mr Lupin?” McGonagall asks, her gaze shifting to Remus.

Remus looks up from his toast. Two days before the full moon, he makes a sorry sight; there are bags under his eyes, he’s paler than usual. “No, Professor,” he says. “I don’t know anything about it. Maybe the elves are trying a new washing technique. It doesn’t seem to agree with the Slytherin’s delicate skin.”

Perhaps it’s because Remus looks too worn-down to lie, or because McGonagall doesn’t have any concrete proof, but she merely narrows her eyes at the lot of them and then heads back to the top table. 

“Nice one, Moony,” Sirius says approvingly. 

James is moving his wand slowly over a piece of toast. Peter watches him curiously as he levitates it down the Gryffindor table where it eventually comes to a floating rest in front of Evans, who frowns at it before snatching it out of the air. Her eyes widen as she looks at the toast and then, without even glancing at James, she drops it into the nearest jug of milk and continues eating her breakfast.

“Damn,” James breathes.

“What was that?” Peter asks.

“I asked her to go to Hogsmeade with me,” James says, shoulders hunching defensively.

Remus stares at him. “On a piece of toast?” 

Sirius laughs. “Well, points for effort, mate.”

“I thought it was quirky!” James protests, his gaze lingering mournfully on Evans. He gives himself a small shake, and then reaches for some more kippers. “Ah well. Her loss if she can’t appreciate my humour, right?”

“Oh, yeah,” Peter says quickly, as Remus hums in half-hearted agreement and Sirius nods briskly.

“Don’t worry about it,” Sirius says. “You’ll get a date for Hogsmeade, no fear.”

James grins. “’Course I will,” he says confidently. “In fact, I saw Edie March eyeing me up the other day, I’ll probably ask her.”

“Isn’t she with Andrew Baines?” Remus asks.

James shrugs, unconcerned. “Pete, want me to see if she’s got a friend?”

“What?” Peter looks up in surprise, nearly putting his elbow in his toast. “I - uh -”

“You can’t still be hung up on Warburton,” James continues airily. “We’ll find other girls who appreciate our talents.”

Peter’s ears are buzzing; the noise of the Great Hall, all the chattering and scrape of cutlery, seems to die down, except for James’ voice, which is impossibly loud. Peter pulls his top lip into his mouth, jiggling his leg under the table.

“Actually,” he says, meeting James’ gaze. “Michelle said yes when I asked her.”

James looks around at Remus and Sirius, almost wonderingly, and Peter wants to kick him. 

_That’s right. A girl said yes to me and you got refused._

A second later he feels bad, as James grins at him awkwardly.

“Oh, cool. Sorry, mate, didn’t mean to - well, you never said anything! I just - assumed - anyway, er, that’s great!”

Remus smiles at him; Sirius rolls his eyes and picks up _The Daily Prophet_ , looking bored by the whole conversation.

“Anything interesting?” James ask, leaning closer to read over Sirius’ shoulder, looking a bit relieved by the chance to change the subject.

“No deaths,” Sirius says briskly.

He’s scanning the paper with a bravado that Peter knows is mostly forced. It’s become a daily ritual, checking the news for any signs of Death Eater activity. There has been no major reports of anything happening since last year and the train crash, something that Peter had originally thought was good, but then Remus had said that just because they’re not reporting it, doesn’t mean that things aren’t happening. Now they look for disappearances, strange happenings. Things are happening, even Peter can see that; he’s noticed that there are some days when Dumbledore’s chair on the top table is empty, days when the teacher’s faces are tightly drawn and grim in a way that Peter is sure has nothing to do with teaching. 

“Well, no deaths is something,” he says.

Sirius folds the paper back up and tosses it on to the table as everyone starts to get up and head to their first lesson of the day. They all get to their feet as well, Sirius chugging the last of his coffee and Remus rising from his chair, wincing, but before Peter can ask if he’s all right, Remus rearranges his face and merely looks exhausted again. The four of them join the throng of Gryffindors making their way from the Great Hall and they stroll out of the castle and into the grounds, where at least the wind has eased off a bit and the sun is making an effort to put in an appearance. 

“If it stays like this, I reckon we should ask Adric for a practice this evening,” James says as they make their way to the greenhouses, shooting a look at Sirius. “We’ve got our match against Ravenclaw soon, and after they beat Hufflepuff, I kind of want to wipe the smirk off of Fenwick’s face, don’t you?”

“He has been looking a bit too sure of himself lately,” Sirius says agreeably. “Maybe he needs another pumpkin exploding over him; reckon Hagrid would let me have one?”

Peter laughs, but the smiles soon disappear from his friend’s faces as a voice behind them snaps, “God, you are all so childish! Don’t you ever get bored of hearing your own voices with the drivel you spout?”

Lily Evans and her friends are walking behind them. As they all come to a halt outside their greenhouse, waiting for Professor Sprout, James turns to face Evans, a smirk quickly springing back on his face.

“Evans, I thought we were friends!”

“If you were my friend, Potter, you’d stop thinking of ways to embarrass the people I care about,” Evans says. “I know it was you who pulled that stupid prank on the Slytherins this morning. Proud of yourself, are you?”

The rest of the class are trudging over the grass towards them, all stopping and staring interestedly at the row that is quickly transpiring. Peter hears Remus sigh beside him. Michelle is one of the Hufflepuffs that join them, and Peter waves at her, taking a step away from James, who has folded his arms across his chest in indignation.

“The people you care about?” he echoes mockingly. “Well, I’m glad not to count myself amongst that group, then, if the people you care about include Fenwick and a bunch of stinking Slytherins! Honestly, Evans, you want to get your priorities checked -”

Peter edges closer to Michelle, hoping to put as much distance between himself and James - who has started to turn a funny shade of red in the neck - as possible.

“You want to get your head checked!” Evans says, just as Professor Sprout arrives on the scene, whistling loudly.

“All right, calm down folks, in we go,” she says, unlocking the greenhouse door and waving them all inside. “Miss Evans, I don’t want to hear that kind of language again, thank you! We’re working on our Calycanthuses again today, and we all need to be in a calm disposition, or else they sense it and don’t want to sing. Now, you’ll need to partner up…”

Evans storms in ahead of them all, nearly as red as her hair, and all but throws her things down next to Dorcas Meadowes. Remus and Sirius are already stood together, and Peter turns hopefully to Michelle.

“Want to be my partner?”

“Sure,” she says with a smile.

“Oh, come on,” James says loudly, just behind him, and Peter looks at him apologetically for the briefest of seconds before getting out his gloves and shears and joining Michelle at a bench.

James looks mutinous for a moment, stood alone by his Singing Calycanthus which, Peter has to admit, is very quiet and droopy-looking compared to everyone else's, occasionally emitting a croaky warble. As though a switch has been flipped on, James straightens his shoulders and puts a smile on his face as his eyes sweep the greenhouse.

“Hey, Edie,” he calls, and a petite Hufflepuff with glasses looks his way, already smiling slightly. “Fancy teaching my Calycanthus to sing?”

“Go on then,” Edie says, giggling, and moves her things from the table she is sharing with Andrew Baines to James’ with no second thought.

In no time at all the whole school is swept up in the excitement of the upcoming Hogsmeade weekend. Particularly amongst the Fourth Years and above, it seems that every other conversation is dominated by who is taking who. Marlene McKinnon storms through the portrait hole that evening, complaining to anyone who will listen that she had to wait nearly ten minutes to get to the toilet on the second floor because it was so full of gossiping girls speculating on the love lives of everyone in the castle. Alice Thorne gives her a sympathetic, knowing look, and says she had to confiscate a love potion from a Second Year Ravenclaw just that afternoon. 

“Home-brewed, by the looks of it. Meant for a Fifth Year, apparently,” Alice says, and Peter is left to wonder at the thought of tiny, terrifying twelve-year-olds.

Edie March tags along to the next Gryffindor training session, eager for the Gryffindor team to beat Ravenclaw after Hufflepuff’s defeat by them the last game, and James offers to walk her back to her common room after with an exaggerated wink back at the others. It comes as no surprise to any of them when James returns to the common room an hour later, grinning unabashedly and saying he’s got a date for Valentine’s Day.

“You not going to ask anyone, Moony?” Peter asks when it’s just the four of them in the dormitory.

Remus pauses in the process of pulling on his pyjama top and gives Peter a weary look. “The Hogsmeade trip is the day after the full moon. The only date I’ll be having is with my bed and a healing potion.”

“I’ll keep you company,” Sirius calls from his bed. “I don’t fancy being in town surrounded by a bunch of lovesick morons - no offence of course, you two,” he adds, looking at James and Peter.

“Ah, the sweet sound of jealousy,” James says, grinning. 

Peter smiles too. Personally he’s sure that Sirius isn’t at all jealous, that he could have any girl he wanted if he actually did want to, but he’s enjoying having something like this in common with James, something that Sirius or Remus are not a part of. He joins in with James, teasing Sirius about his lack of a love life, until Sirius grows bored and throws himself at James, nearly sticking his wand up James’ nostril.

When Peter starts to cheer them on, that’s when Remus interrupts. “Children,” he chides sleepily, his eyes half-closed. “Some werewolves need their rest, you know.”

Sirius scrambles back to his own four-poster; James retrieves his glasses from where they had been thrown across the room; and Peter settles down to sleep, his dreams full of bizarre scenarios where he serenades Michelle with a backing group of plants and gives her a werewolf puppy as a Valentine’s present that promptly starts eating James’ broom.

::

Sunlight streams through the high windows of the Hospital Wing, falling offensively across Remus’ face. He groans, turning his head to the side in an attempt to burrow away from the glare, but his head starts screaming in protest at the movement. He screws his eyes shut instead, pulling one arm free from the heavy blankets on top of him to fumble for his wand. He intends to draw the curtains around his bed, but then a thought stops him. If the curtains aren’t already closed around him, shielding him away from the other inhabitants of the Hospital Wing, then that must mean that his injuries are minor to non-existent. 

Remus gropes in his still-bleary mind for the slightest memory of the night before. As always, it just leaves a poiunding in his head and a roiling in his stomach as the transformation flashes through his mind, jagged as a shard of glass, never a complete picture. It’s probably best he can never remember turning into the wolf, or what the wolf does. The pain the following day is enough to go on, but apart from his throbbing temple and queasiness, Remus feels a lot better than he usually does. Certainly he must look all right, if Madam Pomfrey decided to leave the curtains around him open, and for that he’s grateful. A curtained-off bed arouses more suspicion than not, after all.

Another half an hour or so passes until Remus feels able to move into a sitting-up position, enjoying the rarity of watching the students in the other beds. Madam Pomfrey bustles over to give him his usual bar of chocolate and cup of tea to get his strength up again, and hurries to another bed at the other side of the room, muttering about “this day”. Remus, so used to her fussing over him, is taken aback at her lack of interest, until he sees that the other student does seem to need her attention more, as he’s just sprouted wings from out of the back of his robes. 

“Tried to turn himself into Cupid on a dare,” a girl in the bed opposite Remus says. “He won the bet, but now can’t get the wings to stop growing.”

“Unfortunate,” Remus murmurs, savouring both his slab of Honeydukes finest and the fact that he’s not the most interesting person in the room. A cursory glance over at the girl shows her skin to be an alarming shade of orange.

“I gave my best friend’s boyfriend a card,” she says ruefully, and then grins, unpeturbed. “She found out.”

“Ah,” Remus says, unsure of what else there is to be said.

“And what about you? Did you come off worse in a Valentine’s Day mishap too? You’ve got some nasty scars on you.”

“Oh,” Remus says, and suddenly longs for the curtains to be closed again. “Well -”

“It’s a thrilling tale!” Sirius’ voice says, and Remus nearly melts into his pillows in relief at the sight of him striding into the room. He pulls up a chair by the side of Remus and gives the girl in the opposite bed a dazzling smile. “Aren’t you charming! Lovely colour. You’ll have to give me the name of the person who jinxed you. Anyway, where were we - oh, yes, my companions sorry state!”

“Hey,” Remus says, a bit resentfully, because all in all, he’s in quite a good state as post-transformations go. “These scars are old.”

“Which one were you wondering about?” Sirius asks the girl pleasantly, who is looking dumbstruck at his sudden arrival. Remus can relate. “The one he got when he single handedly fended off an irate hippogriff? The one he earned saving McGonagall from the Giant Squid in his second year? The ones he got taking out a dozen Death Eaters?”

“Mr Black, that’s quite enough,” Madam Pomfrey says, as the girl’s eyes widen and, if possible, she seems to turn an even brighter orange. “My patients need rest, thank you, or else I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

Sirius grins lazily and gets to his feet, tugging the curtains closed. Settling himself back down, he looks Remus over, and then says, “You look all right, actually. Do you think they’re getting any better?”

“No,” Remus says, wishing he had a different answer. “I think I just got lucky last night.”

“James thinks he’s found the key ingredient to the potion,” Sirius says. “After that’s brewed and taken, then it’s just the spell, which James reckons he’s cracked already. Another couple of months and it will get better.”

Remus opens his mouth, realises he doesn’t know what to say. He’s sure he must have used every variation of “thank you” and “you really don’t have to do this for me” and “you’ll never know how amazed I am at you all” that the English language has to offer, and every time his friend’s just grin or punch him on the arm and say it’s no bother. Remus takes another bite of chocolate instead. 

“Where are James and Peter?”

Sirius’ eye roll is impressive. “Oh, getting ready for their _dates_. Peter was hogging the shower and James was wrestling with his hair last I looked, so I decided to get the hell out of there and come keep you company.”

“You could still go to Hogsmeade,” Remus says. “The sun’s out. It’ll be a nice day.”

Sirius looks at him for so long that Remus drops his gaze to the blanket, sure he must have said something wrong. When Sirius speaks, however, Remus can hear the smile in his voice.

“I’m not interested in going to Hogsmeade. I’m staying with you.”

“Are you being my date?” Remus asks. 

He’s aiming for a sarcastic tone but it gets stuck somewhere in his throat and, to his horror, comes out sounding oddly sincere. He can feel the blush in his cheeks, and he snaps his eyes up to study Sirius’ expression, and finds his friend grinning.

“Yeah, if you like,” Sirius says. “Better you than some bird I’m not interested in.”

He says it so easily that Remus wants to hug him and hit him at the same time. Like with everything else Sirius Black, joking about going on a date with one of his best, and very male, friends is effortless. Not at all something to get worked up about, which - if Remus is honest with himself (and he tries to be, on the whole, even if being honest with himself just makes him more confused) - is precisely what Remus has been doing lately. Getting worked up and over thinking things and generally loathing being stuck with his own mind for company, because his mind seems to spend an awful lot of time on Sirius Black and the effortless, easy way he does things, and how those things contribute to making Remus feel like his stomach has dropped to his ankles.

The thing is, Remus thinks, as Sirius unearths _The Daily Prophet_ from up the sleeve of his robes and flicks to the crossword, the thing is this: Remus’ mum _had_ given Remus leaflets over the summer. Leaflets that left Remus with mostly more questions, because all of the strangely expressionless drawings were of girls and boys being together and nowhere did it mention about boys being with boys. Remus had wondered if maybe he could ask his dad, but he’d never been able to get his words out and the whole thing was so awkwardly painful and painfully awkward that Remus had just shoved it all to the back of his mind.

Sirius brings it all tumbling to the forefront, even now, doing something as mundane as the sodding crossword puzzle in the paper. He’s got one leg crossed over the other, an ankle resting on a knee and his foot jiggling on the floor, a quill in one hand as his eyes scan the pages, a frown on his face as his lips mouth the clues to himself.

“I think I’m going to take a nap,” Remus tells him.

Sirius doesn’t look up. “Fine by me. I’ll stay here. I’m stuck on 18-across anyway. Eleven letter word for ‘madness’, what do you reckon?”

 _Sirius Black_ , Remus thinks, closing his eyes tight and sucking in a breath. When he releases it, he says, “Foolishness,” the word ending on a hiss, like the air deflating from a balloon.

::

Edie March, on the whole, is a pretty girl. She’s got slim wrists and a small build, and her glasses reflect the sun whenever she tilts her head up to laugh at one of James’ jokes, which she does often. James is feeling quite pleased with himself as they walk around Hogsmeade, and by the time they’re in Zonko’s looking at the offer on Exploding Quills, James hasn’t spared much thought for Lily Evans. 

Except this: It’s her loss. She could be wandering around a sunny Hogsmeade now, her hand in James’ (even though Edie is small, and James has to drop his shoulder slightly to make it work). Instead she’s probably doing - whatever it is that Evans does for fun. Her Charms homework, probably. James smirks to himself, and Edie squeezes his hand to get his attention. He looks down at her and sees she’s frowning.

“Are you listening?” she asks.

“Of course,” he replies. “Ah - what was that last bit?”

Edie sighs. “Puddifoot’s or The Three Broomsticks?”

James wrinkles his nose upon hearing the first option. He’s sure there is a rule among him and his friends that they are all forbidden from setting foot in that teashop, and if there isn’t a rule, there should be.

“The Three Broomsticks,” he says decisively, and misses the dejected look on Edie’s face as he drags her in the direction of the pub. 

The Three Broomsticks is packed with students as they squeeze in through the door. The nice weather means that there’s no fire lit, but the amount of bodies in the place means that it’s just as warm without, and James nearly loses Edie twice in an effort to get the bar. He grips her hand in his, not wanting her to get trampled underfoot or anything else that would signify a Very Bad Date, and she clutches his tightly in return. A bit too tight, James thinks, and is rather pleased when he elbows someone out of the way and finally gets seen by Madam Rosmerta, detaching his hand from his date’s and signalling for two butterbeers.

“Oh, I don’t really like this stuff,” Edie tells him when he passes her a bottle, and James realises too late that perhaps he should have asked her what she wanted.

Whenever the Potter family go for meals out together, his dad always orders for his mum, but then again, they have known each other long enough to know each other’s drinking preferences.

“Er, sorry,” James says gruffly. “I’ll drink it. Uh - what do you want?”

His place at the front of the bar has gone but he tries not to let his smile slip. 

“Just a gillywater and lime,” Edie says, looking around distractedly. “I’ll go find a table.”

She disappears into the crush and James is left to line up to be served again. Glancing around, he can’t see Edie anywhere, and he sighs. If this is to be a regular thing, he may have to put a Tracking Charm on her. She really is rather small. He looks to his left and instead sees Peter next to him, wearing a crisp white shirt that belongs to Remus and smelling powerfully of cologne.

“Pete,” James says, and Peter looks at him in relief.

“James! Bit mad in here, isn’t it? Where’s your date? Did she chuck you?”

“No,” James says, and then realises Peter looks red-faced. “Why - has Michelle chucked you?”

He feels oddly envious at the thought.

“No,” Peter says glumly. “But I don’t really know what to talk to her about. We both like Herbology, but after all the talking of plants is out of the way, it’s mostly silence.”

“Wow,” James says. “Er - I’m sure it can’t be going that bad. Hey, how about if Edie and I join you? Then there won’t be any silences, because at least you and I can talk to each other!”

Peter’s face brightens immediately. James thinks it’s a brilliant idea, although Edie - judging from her face when be emerges from the crowd with Michelle and Peter trailing behind him - does not. James clinks his bottle into Peter’s glass after they’ve all squeezed in around a small table that Edie has managed to find.

“This is cosy, isn’t it!” he says, his knees knocking in to Peter’s under the table.

Michelle and Edie swap unreadable looks.

::

“- And then Peter comes falling out from behind the tapestry, right, screaming at us all to run because Filch is on the way -”

“- Only Sirius still has the bucket stuck on his head, and Remus is trying to scatter the doxy eggs -”

“- And Mrs Norris turns up, haha, and Remus grabs her and stuffs her in this coat of armour -”

“I’d forgotten that bit!”

“-So then we all run, Sirius still with the bucket on - d’you remember how red his face was after, Pete?”

“Haha, God, thought he’d be that colour forever -”

“As fascinating as this is,” Michelle says in a bored voice, cutting across James before he can launch into the rest of his story. “I’m just going to pop to the toilet.”

“I’ll come too,” Edie says, jumping to her feet and hurrying after the other girl.

“I wonder why they always go in packs?” Peter asks, taking a thoughtful swig of his drink. 

Generally, he thinks the mood of the date has picked up, even if the girls are being a bit quiet. And then, something happens to make it even better. James sits bolt upright in his chair, his eyes narrowing and then widening behind his glasses.

“Pete, look, it’s Regulus - with a girl!”

Peter swivels his head to look at the thinning crowd near the bar, and sure enough there is Sirius’ brother on what must be a date. Looking closer, Peter sees that the girl he is with is that Slytherin girl that Sirius pointed out to them once. 

“Hey, that’s that - what’s her name - the one Sirius was going to be forced to marry!”

“The Carrow girl?” James pulls a disgusted face. “Ugh, what are they doing on a date? I wonder how Regulus feels getting his brother’s cast-offs.”

“I think we should go find out,” Peter says, starting to grin as the possibilities enter into his mind, all thoughts of his own date forgotten.

“I have a better idea,” James says, eyes glinting. “Follow me.”

He strides over to Regulus, a pleasant smile on his face, and in one quick movement has seized Regulus by the hand and pulled him into a one-armed hug as if they were best mates. Regulus stiffens at the contact and his expression goes oddly lopsided when he sees who it is. Peter, following James’ lead, darts forward and gives Regulus a hearty clap in the shoulder.

“Potter,” Regulus says in a cold voice. “What -”

“Afternoon, Reg!” Peter interrupts in his most cheerful voice. “How wonderful to see you!”

Regulus’ eye twitches at the nickname. Behind him, Cressida Carrow is gazing contemptuously at them both, although she does look suspiciously at Regulus for the briefest of seconds.

“Hey, listen, mate,” James says, leaning forward conspiratorially, although his voice is still loud enough to carry. “I just wanted to say - about that problem you mentioned the other day - I know it makes sitting on a broomstick a right pain, but Madam Pomfrey has some sort of cream for it, clears it right up, even the boils in the hard-to-reach places.”

James straightens up, winking good-naturedly at Regulus, whose mouth is opening and closing wordlessly. James gives Regulus a friendly pat on the shoulder, waves cheerily at Cressida, who is looking horror-stricken at Regulus, and then returns to his table. Peter follows, his face hurting from trying not to laugh.

“That was brilliant,” Peter says when they’re back at the table. “I reckon that scuppered his plans for a date!”

James leans back in his chair, grinning. For a while they simply sit in silence, basking in their own brilliance, until a thought occurs to Peter, and he nudges James with his foot.

“Hey, James? Um - I don’t think the girls are coming back.”

::

It takes Sirius nearly a full five minutes to catch his breath from laughing after Peter and James fill him in on what happened in Hogsmeade. Far from being bothered about his brother’s choice of date, Sirius had merely looked disdainful when Peter told him and said Regulus and Cressida are welcome to each other.

“Doubt she’ll want him now,” James says with a grin, which sets Sirius off again.

Sirius is leaning into Remus on the sofa, one hand pressed to his ribs from the laughter. Neither Sirius nor Remus had seemed too surprised when Peter told them how their own dates went. Really, Peter thinks, looking around at his mates - Sirius, trying to suppress his giggles in Remus’ shoulder while Alice Thorne shouts at him to shut the hell up; Remus, seeming more alert than usual the day after a full moon, looking at Sirius with a mixture of affection and exhaustion; James, still puffed up and proud looking despite the fact his date had walked out and left him in the middle of the pub - really, Peter reckons that there are worse ways to spend a Valentine’s Day.


	43. the muggle studies trip.

_March 1975._

All in all, not that many students take Muggle Studies. So few, in fact, that it’s the only subject that Sirius is aware of that takes students from all four houses. There’s even a Slytherin in Sirius’ class, a bloke called Flint who Sirius, despite knowing of him for years and sharing lessons with him, can’t recall a time he’s ever heard Flint utter a single word. From the looks of him, Sirius doubts he’d have much of importance to say anyway, although Sirius is curious what his housemates make of his choosing to take Muggle Studies. 

Glancing around at his fellows where they are all stood in Professor Laughton’s office, Sirius wonders, not for the first time, how many of them opted for Muggle Studies believing it’s a soft option, an easy pass, and how many are actually interested in learning about the differences between the two worlds. Sirius originally took it for neither reason, instead thinking of the small aneurysm his mother must have surely suffered when she found out what her son and heir was studying. Now though, Sirius finds that Muggle Studies is fast becoming one of his favourite subjects at school. 

Plus, they get to go on a _school trip_.

He’d woken up early this morning, the first day of the Easter holidays, excited to think that he’s escaping going back to Grimmauld Place again. Instead, he gets to spend time exploring a Muggle city, having a laugh and a well-earned break.

“If any of you think this is an excuse to muck about and take a back seat, you’re mistaken,” Professor Laughton tells them all, pacing in front of the nine students stood in a line in his office. “It’s not a holiday. It’s educational. No doubt some of you will find it extremely hard work, living like a Muggle for two days. If there’s any rule-breaking, any nonsense -” here Sirius is sure that Laughton catches his eye, and he frowns right back, affronted, “- I will not hesitate to flag down the Knight Bus and send you back to school, pronto. Am I clear?”

There’s a general muttering of assent. Sirius clenches and unclenches his hands behind his back, impatient to get going. Really, the company could be better; Evans and Meadowes from his house, Liam Boot and Amber McCroy from Ravenclaw, three Hufflepuffs - one of which is Edie March, who has refused to look at him since she spotted him - and Flint. But Sirius isn’t going to let any of that ruin his fun. 

“You’ll be in groups of three,” Laughton says, unfurling a bit of parchment and scanning it. “You’re to stick with your partners at all times. I’ve tried to make it fair, and there’s no room for argument here. McCroy, Flint and Lyons in one group.” 

The Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff eye Flint warily, and Laughton has to clear his throat before they shuffle closer to the Slytherin, who doesn’t show any sign of emotion at all. 

“The next group - Meadowes, Tinton, Boot.” 

Sirius hears Evans whisper “damn it” from beside him, and he turns to grin broadly at her.

“Hello, partner,” he says, as Professor Laughton reels off the final group - Black, Evans and March.

Edie March doesn’t seem thrilled at the prospect either. Sirius cackles. This is going to be better than he thought.

::

Lily has never hated being a Muggle-born more. 

Professor Laughton’s idea of fair is to pair those with experience of the Muggle world with those that do not, so of course she gets lumbered with Black. Of bloody course. She had, before being partnered up with him and Edie, entertained vague fantasies of him stumbling off in Edinburgh and getting mowed down by one of those motorcycles he’s so obsessed with in class, but now it’s her responsibility to make sure that doesn’t happen. 

They’re being shipped off through the Floo before she can think of a valid argument to present for herself and her sanity. Professor Laughton goes first, and it’s left to Filch to oversee the students through to meet him. Filch is smiling thinly, making jibes about how they won’t last a day without their wands, and if they do mess up, then they’ll be carted off to Azkaban for flouting the Statute of Secrecy. 

Vanessa Tinton gulps audibly as Filch prattles on, his eyes bulging with manic delight at the obvious nervousness he’s causing, and Lily decides that’s quite enough of that.

“We live in a castle haunted with ghosts and ghouls and who-knows-what-else; there’s a forest full of dangers on our doorstep. Do you really think we’re scared of whatever you have to say?” she asks, tilting her head to regard the caretaker coolly.

Vanessa Tinton smiles shakily before stepping into the fireplace, giving Lily a grateful look before she’s swept away in a whoosh of emerald. Black whistles appreciatively.

“Glad I’ve got you on my side, Evans. Are you going to hold my hand through this ordeal?”

“Oh, honestly,” Lily mutters, fed up already of the Muggle world being treated like some side-show attraction at a theme park. 

She feels an odd boost of power though, as Filch goes purple in the face and the remaining students, those that did seem a bit nervous, now stand more confidently, laughing his comments off. It’s one of the rare occasions in her time at Hogwarts where she has the upper hand, knowledge that most of this lot do not. Black, for all of his enthusiasm in Muggle Studies, probably hasn’t the foggiest idea of the differences between a lightbulb and a tin opener. 

Mary hadn’t been able to understand why Lily had opted to take the class in the first place, being Muggle-born herself and having to juggle it with Divination and Care of Magical Creatures. It would have been easier and less time consuming to take only two electives, Lily knows, but what with everything that’s happening in the outside world, with how Muggle-borns are being treated, Lily feels she owes it to herself to know exactly how uneducated her Pure-blooded peers are, no matter how many uncomfortable questions it raises.

“Are you ready?” she asks when the other students have gone and it’s just her, Black and Edie alone with a scowling Filch. 

“Born ready, Evans,” Black drawls, while Edie rolls her eyes behind him.

Black goes through the Floo first, chucking the powder in and speaking clearly as though he’s done it a hundred times in his life. Which of course he probably has. Lily’s only travelled by Floo a couple of times before when visiting Dorcas and it’s not her favourite method of transportation in the world. Still, she lets Black have his moment in his comfort zone, knowing it will soon be over.

It’s Lily’s turn last, and Filch saves his worst look for her as she climbs into the fireplace.

“The White Hart,” she says, trying not to inhale any soot; the last thing she needs is to end up in some old Scottish biddy’s living room by mistake. 

Tucking her elbows against her sides, Lily squeezes her eyes shut as she begins to move, preferring not to see the many fireplaces flashing by. She lands in an ungraceful kneeling position, but at least she’s managed not to fall over as she did last time, ending up sprawled on the floor of Dorcas’ cousins’ kitchen floor. 

“No need to bow before me, Evans,” Black says above her, smirking, but he holds out a hand to help her up and Lily, still a bit shaky, takes it.

As she gets to her feet, Lily takes in her surroundings. They’re in a pub, and a clearly magical one at that. There’s exposed brickwork on the walls, beams overhead like in the Cokeworth local, The Copper Kettle. An animated buzz is all around them; the pub is busy. The barman is leaned across the bar, engaged in a game of wizarding chess with a customer, and the beer taps are pouring themselves. Two wizards in kilts are conversing over two large tankards in broad Scottish accents; a woman sat at a table nearby is idly stirring a cup of tea with her wand, and no one seems at all bothered by the fact that nine teenagers just dropped out of the fireplace. 

“Right! Everyone here? Good job. I want you all to hand your wands to me - yes, Mr Flint, don’t look like that, Muggles don’t have wands - and you’re all to have a read of the paper I give to you.” 

Professor Laughton hands out paper - actual, honest-to-goodness lined paper; Lily grins at the sight of it - with a ticklist on it, detailing things that they can do while out and about in the city. Lily scans it with glee. Buy a souvenir. Travel using 3 methods of transportation. Order a meal.

“Now, it’s not a competition. You don’t have to do all of these things, they’re just suggestions. You’ll each have a guidebook, and the name of the hotel we’re booked in at is written at the top of your paper.”

“Sir?” Amber McCroy’s hand shoots into the air, shaking slightly. “Sir, aren’t we staying here?”

“Oh no, Miss McCroy. We’re staying in a Muggle hotel. As I said, the name is on the paper. How you get there is up to you, although I must ask you all to be back by eight in the evening.”

“Are you - are you not coming with us, sir?” Oliver Lyons asks.

“And how do you propose I split myself into three, Mr Lyons?”

“But - but we don’t have our wands!” Liam Boot protests. “What if something happens to us?”

Professor Laughton smiles. “I have my methods of keeping track of you all, Mr Boot. If there’s anybody who feels they are not up to the excursion, they can of course go back to school.”

Lily glances around quickly; no one moves, although she’s sure that Amber McCroy’s hand twitches.

“Very good!” Professor Laughton says, clapping his hands together with finality. “Well, the city awaits you, ladies and gentlemen. Off you go!”

There’s a pause in which the students all look at each other uncertainly. Professor Laughton doesn’t linger and instead heads to the bar with, unless Lily is very much mistaken, a spring in his step. Dorcas gives Lily a ‘what-do-you-reckon?’ sort of look, and Lily shrugs in reply. Dorcas grins and then turns to the other two in her group, apparently making a plan. The other group have sat themselves at a table, studying the paper intently, Flint looking as surly as ever. 

Lily turns to Edie and Black who, she realises with a jolt, are looking at her expectantly. 

“Well?” Edie prompts.

“Well what?” 

“What do you think we should do first?” Edie asks, flapping the bit of paper in Lily’s face.

Black grins at her. “Looks like you’re in charge, Evans.”

::

Being in charge of Sirius Black is tiring work, Lily soon realises, and she feels a sort of pang of empathy for Potter. 

They’ve been on the streets of Edinburgh for half an hour and already Black has nearly been knocked over by a car three times due to not looking when crossing the road. On the fourth time, Lily lets out a strangled curse of exasperation as she yanks him back on to the pavement by his arm. 

“Don’t you live in London?” she asks him testily, punching the button on the pelican crossing and indicating the illuminated ‘wait’ sign. “Surely you’ve crossed a road before in your life.”

Black, far from being disheartened at his flirtations with death, looks delighted. “Mother never let us go out really,” he says, jabbing the button again and again with his index finger with such obvious enthusiasm that people nearby stare. “It’s mostly Floo and Side-Along Apparation if we have to go anywhere. We don’t exactly go out and mingle with the Muggles.”

“Sh,” Edie says, looking around nervously, and Lily notices too that the other pedestrians waiting to cross are now frowning at Sirius and the words coming out of his mouth.

Thankfully, the traffic stops then and Black jumps at the beeping noise. “The green man means go, remember,” Lily hisses in his ear. Hopefully he’ll just pass for someone out on day release or something, she thinks desperately. She has to drag him across the road, because Black is showing every intention of wanting to stop and watch the lights change again.

“There’s a cafe there,” Edie says, pointing, and Lily could kiss her in relief. She already needs a sit-down, time to regroup, and definitely caffeine in her system to handle a whole two days of this.

They take a seat around a table at the back of the room. Black immediately picks up the menu in interest and Lily digs out some money from the pocket of her jeans.

“Do you want me to order?” she offers.

Edie shakes her head. “I’ll get it. My nan’s a Muggle; I’ve handled Muggle money before and I could do with the practice.”

“Pumpkin juice for me!” Black says.

“Er -” Lily catches Edie’s eye, smiling. “I don’t think they’ll serve that, Black. It’s not actually a common juice drink.”

“Really?” Black frowns down at the menu in his hands. “What, and pomegranate is acceptable?”

Lily shrugs. “Sorry. Way of the Muggle world.”

“Just a coffee then,” Black mutters, replacing the menu in its stand with a sulky look. 

As Edie joins the queue of customers waiting to be served, Lily smoothes out the tick-list on to the table. Black peers over too, and taps his finger down on the first suggestion. 

“I want to do that.”

“The transport one? I could have guessed. I warn you, I’m not getting on a motorbike.”

Black tilts back on his chair. “I can live with that. I want to try one of those Muggle buses. Remus says they’re better than the Knight Bus.”

“Remus is right,” Lily says, although her own experiences with the buses in Cokeworth leave much to be desired. Black is gazing thoughtfully around the cafe, and Lily finds herself genuinely curious when she asks, “So, you don’t get out much at home?”

“Hm?” Black brings his attention back to her with what seems like a great deal of effort. Lily tries not to feel offended that he apparently finds the specials board more interesting than her. “Oh. Yeah, well, Mother doesn’t trust many people and she doesn’t much like Muggles, so it’s not like she took us to the local park or anything.”

“But - how do you get things? How do you shop, for example?”

Black frowns. He considers the question for a long time. “We go to wizarding places when we need to shop. Diagon and Knockturn, you know. We have people who come to the house with some things, tailors and such, if we need robes or whatever. And we have Kreacher too, he does a bit.”

“Kreacher?”

“Our house-elf,” Black explains.

Lily isn’t even surprised. Of course he has a house-elf. 

“But - what about school? Friends? Before you came to Hogwarts, I mean. Dorcas says some wizards and witches are taught at home.”

“They are,” Black says. “We had a governess and Mother taught us our history.”

“Like History of Magic?”

“No, I meant - our history. The Black history.”

“You had history lessons on your own family?” Lily asks, eyebrows raised. 

The Evans family have a cupboard full of shoeboxes stacked on top of one another and overflowing, full of things like black-and-white photos of dead relatives, Lily’s first tooth, a lock of Petunia’s hair from her first cut, Grandpa Evans’ war medal, Grandma Dixon’s wedding ring. 

“Has this turned into Pure-blood Studies?” Black says, practically snatching the coffee from Edie’s hand when she returns to the table and glaring into the contents of the mug. “Shouldn’t I be quizzing you on how you live?”

Edie lowers herself into the chair beside Lily, keeping the table between her and Black. His demeanour has changed throughout Lily’s questioning; he’s guarded now, one hand around his mug, holding it close, the other arm across his stomach, his shoulders up. His dark hair is falling into his eyes and he swipes at it, pushing it back; it’s such a Potter gesture that Lily nearly smiles. 

It’s probably one of the few times she’s seen Black on his own, properly on his own, without any of the other three nearby or likely to spring up at any given moment. Lily realises with some shock that this is Sirius Black on the defensive. She’s used to seeing Potter raking his hands through his hair and across his neck whenever he’s stressed out by something; she knows the way Remus’ eyes go sideways and a blush creeps on to his cheeks; she’s accustomed to Pettigrew’s high-pitched, nervous laughter when he’s unsure of something in class. She hasn’t, however, ever seen Sirius Black look quite so out of place as he does now in this Muggle cafe, answering questions about his home-life.

She blows on her tea to cool it down and catches his gaze across the table, holds it. “Okay,” she says agreeably. “Fire away. Any questions you want.”

Black blinks for a moment. He scratches just below his left ear. 

“All right,” he says, his voice deeper and more certain now the ball is back in his court. “So, you went to one of those what’s it’s - a primary school?”

They’ve just started to cover the Muggle educational system in lessons. Lily smiles.

“Well remembered. Yeah, I did. I went to Moulder’s Green Primary School in Cokeworth. That’s where I live,” she adds. “Before I got my letter I was going to go to the secondary modern school where Tu - where my older sister goes.”

Edie frowns. “I didn’t know you had a sister.”

“You never asked.”

“So she’s a Muggle? I mean, you’re the only magical person in your family?”

“I am,” Lily says, fiddling with the sugar sachets on the table. 

She doesn’t really want to go into detail about her relationship with her sister with Edie March and Sirius Black, and perhaps Black senses it, because he quickly asks another question.

“How did you get to school? Bus?”

Lily shakes her head. “Oh, no. I walked. It wasn’t far away, really.”

“But you have been on a bus before?” Black presses, like it’s the most interesting thing in the world.

“Of course I have,” Lily says. “To Muggles and Muggle-borns, that’s a bit like asking if they’ve travelled by Floo. I mean, we have a car but we don’t use it much unless we’re going on holiday to the seaside or to visit my grandparents in Halifax. Dad gets the train to work and my mum can walk to the shops. We’re mostly keeping the car because my dad has promised to teach my sister to learn to drive in it.”

“A car?” Black asks, a grin spreading on his face. “Is she learning now? Can you drive?”

“You have to be seventeen to drive,” Edie says, looking quickly at Lily as if to confirm that’s correct. 

Lily nods. 

“I expect I won’t bother,” Lily says, shrugging. “Dad says it costs more than it’s worth and when I’m seventeen I’ll just learn to Apparate, won’t I?”

“I’m going to get a motorbike,” Black says; he’s been saying the same thing since their first lesson on Muggle transportation, when Professor Laughton had told them all about motorbikes and showed them pictures and Black had stared at it like it was the most glorious thing in the world.

Edie grimaces. “My uncle had one of those. He’s a Muggle. He ended up breaking his leg.”

“Wizards are harder to break,” Black says with all the confidence of someone who considers himself indestructible. 

He finishes the rest of his coffee and bounces in his chair slightly, looking a lot more like his usual self. He eyes Lily and Edie expectantly. 

“Are you ready? I think we should tick off the transport thing, and then we can check out some shops. I’m quite good with Muggle money,” he adds, at Lily’s raised eyebrows. “I bought these myself, I’ll have you know.” He gestures down at his Muggle clothes, a simple grey t-shirt and faded jeans. “The Potters took me shopping when I stayed with them once and we went to some Muggle shops. I’m not a complete Pure-blood idiot.”

“Not a complete one, no,” Lily murmurs, but she can’t help but smile at him and the reappearance of his energy, and that’s more than she expected would ever happen when she woke up this morning.

::

It’s a veritable case of ‘be careful what you wish for’ when Sirius does finally get to go on a bus. It’s an all-round horrible experience, Sirius soon realises, culminating in being squashed very close to a group of chattering, excitable tourists, Evans awkwardly trying to read the guidebook and March who-knows-where, lost in the crush of people all piled on, and the floor lurching beneath him every time the bus rumbles to a halt.

“How is this worse than the Knight Bus, exactly?” he asks Evans, after having to grab on to a man’s rucksack to keep him from falling over when the bus stops suddenly in the Edinburgh traffic. “At least they have beds. And it’s fast.”

“And you end up losing half your breakfast,” Evans replies, managing to regain her balance and her dignity a lot more than Sirius. “We’re going to one of the most popular tourist attractions in the city; it’s bound to be busy.”

Sirius makes a noise of contempt. He’s already decided they’re going to get one of those taxi cars back, which hopefully won’t be as crammed full of people as this bus is. Who knew that a city could be so busy? They’re also in what Evans described as ‘rush hour’, whatever that means; apparently it has something to do with all the Muggles in the world on the roads at the same time, lots of swearing and blaring of horns. 

Despite himself, Sirius can kind of see Walburga’s logic in keeping her children away from all the noise and clamour of Muggle London. As of this moment he’s uncomfortably close to another man’s armpit, and it’s not an experience he’s keen to repeat any time soon. He certainly can’t envision his parents in this kind of scenario; even during family meals, the Black’s seat themselves an appropriate distance away from other people.

At last they get to leave the bus, with lots of shoving and elbowing people out of the way. March appears again, looking rumpled and agitated. Evans is the only one still smiling, and she points with the guidebook at a large steeple visible over the surrounding buildings.

“That’s it over there,” she says brightly. “St Giles’ Cathedral.”

Sirius has never been in to a church before, although he’s heard about them from Professor Laughton and Remus. Professor Laughton had been all facts; Remus had painted a picture of duty, of Sunday’s and Christmases spent in a quiet, dusty building. He’d said they could be beautiful buildings, but Remus says that about libraries, and so Sirius isn’t prepared to be impressed when he rounds the corner and takes in the full sight of St Giles’ Cathedral.

“Pretty cool, isn’t it?” Evans says, grinning by his side.

March nods, although Sirius isn’t sure if ‘cool’ is exactly the right word. It certainly is impressive, with its turrets and large windows and crowned steeple. It reminds him a bit of Hogwarts, in a way, years of history right in front of him. He doesn’t want to be a Remus and start waxing poetic about an old building, though, so he just grunts in response. Evans gives him a sideways, knowing look, and tugs him inside.

It’s hushed inside despite the fact that they are by no means the only tourists there. All the footsteps seem quietened, the voices lowered as people wander up and down aisles, taking in the stained-glass windows, the ceiling, the archways, the monuments to those buried long before Sirius’ great-great-great grandfather had even drawn breath. 

“They have a shop,” Evans says after a while, finding him staring at the images on one of the windows, an impressive looking man with a crown. “We can buy a souvenir, if you like.”

Sirius isn’t sure how long they’ve spent in the church. He spots March nearby, lighting a candle and depositing some Muggle coins in to a box. 

“What’s that for?” he asks.

Evans looks where he’s looking, and smiles, a bit sadly. “Oh, sometimes people light candles for people who have died. A way to remember them. Churches often accept donations to keep things running.”

Sirius nods. “Right. Well - I don’t think I want a souvenir,” he says; when he had thought ‘souvenir’, he had thought of something obnoxiously Scottish like a teddy bear with bagpipes in a kilt, something he could display in the dormitory to boast about his trip to Peter, James and Remus. He doesn’t think anything from St Giles’ Cathedral will have quite the same effect. “I’ll give some money, though.”

With Evans’ help he selects what he thinks is an appropriate amount to leave in one of the donation boxes before leaving. March rejoins them moments later, her eyes slightly watery; Sirius wants to ask who it is she’s lost, but doubts he’d get an answer. Evans touches her briefly on the arm, March smiles at her, and the sun seems to shine brighter. Evans is good at things like this, Sirius realises. He finds he wants to ask her more about her life, but doesn’t think he’d get an answer there either, and he’s quite enjoying her looking at him without disdain for once.

They visit other places suggested in the guidebook, all within walking distance so they manage to avoid getting on a bus again. Sirius spends a while in a small souvenir shop, trying not to knock over shot glasses and globes with Edinburgh monuments inside and eventually selecting the most garish teddy bear he can find. He also gets a postcard with St Giles’ Cathedral on the front and writes a scrawled message to James, using the Muggle post for the first time in his life. He’s feeling oddly proud of himself, if a little dubious of the method, as he slips the postcard into the red box. His tongue feels fuzzy from where he licked the stamp.

“I don’t think it was quite necessary to use as much saliva as you did,” Evans says conversationally as they walk through the Old Town towards Edinburgh castle.

Sirius shoots her a wounded, sideways look. “Why does everybody tell me that?” 

Evans snorts, but Sirius thinks she’s rather coming round to liking him.

::

They get to the hotel with five minutes to spare. They’re the last ones back, and there’s obvious relief on Professor Laughton’s face when they do arrive in the hotel foyer.

“Thank Merlin,” Dorcas mutters, striding over to meet Lily. “We were beginning to think Black had got you all killed.”

“Hey. I’m not deaf, Meadowes.”

Lily grins. “Minimal damage sustained, all things considered. How was your day?”

Dorcas shoots a dark look over her shoulder to where Vanessa Tinton and Liam Boot are stood. 

“Let’s just say it’s lucky I didn’t have my wand,” she says. “Boot would have definitely been on the receiving end of a Bat-Bogey Hex. Idiot nearly got us lost seven times, once on a train. I thought Tinton would never stop crying.”

Lily pulls a sympathetic face, just as Professor Laughton claps his hands to get their attention and waves the students over. They all stand in a semi-circle, facing him.

“Glad you all made it!” he says, his gaze lingering on Lily, Edie and Black. “I trust you all had an - educational day out. Now, you’ll be sharing rooms, but not in your groups. Boys, you’re in rooms 205 and 206; girls, rooms 208 and 209. Tomorrow we’ll meet for breakfast before going to explore Arthur’s Seat - those of you who have read the guidebook will know what I’m talking about.”

There’s a pause as a few students shuffle their feet and exchange guilty looks. Lily, who had skimmed through the guidebook, grins excitedly - she’s been looking forward to visiting Arthur’s Seat. She tries to catch Sirius’ eye, but he’s looking at Professor Laughton with an expression of polite confusion and Lily knows he’s envisioning some chair belonging to a bloke called Arthur. 

Lily’s only ever stayed in a hotel once before, after her Aunt Theresa and Uncle Nigel’s wedding when Lily was 10. She and Petunia had been flower girl’s in floaty pastel pink dresses that had clashed horribly with Lily’s hair. 

She remembers her great-aunt Rita getting drunk on the free bar before the speeches and deciding to make her own; Lily swinging off of her father’s arm on the dancefloor, his jacket discarded and his smart bowtie coming loose; in the end all the Evans family, even Petunia, even Grandma Iris with her bad hip, had been dragged on to the floor to do the Twist. 

Lily doesn’t remember getting in to her hotel room and only assumes that her dad must have carried her up, but she woke up in soft white sheets with Petunia’s hair in her face, both of them sharing a small single bed. Lily had stayed where she was, not wanting to wake anyone up, listening to her parents snore-sprinkled breathing from the next bed over and trying to dislodge Petunia’s elbow from her ribcage without waking her and breaking the spell of the whole trip.

Now, Lily smiles fondly at the two twin beds in this hotel in Edinburgh, their white sheets so familiar, and then jumps on to the one nearest the door. 

“I’ll take this one, yeah?”

“Suits me,” Dorcas says easily. “If we’re attacked in the night, you’ll be the first to go.”

“It would probably only be Sirius,” Lily muses.

Dorcas quirks an eyebrow at her. “Sirius, is he now?”

Lily throws a pillow at her. 

She’d only been joking about the thought of Sirius coming into their room, but in less than half an hour, when both Lily and Dorcas have changed into their pyjamas and are lying top-to-toe on one bed, talking about the day, there’s a knock on their door. Well, it’s less of a knock and more of a thumping, and Lily rolls off the bed, opens the door, and before she can say or do anything, Sirius Black has moved past her into the room.

“Hey, your room is nicer than ours!” Sirius exclaims, looking around. “You get flowers on the nightstand. That’s not on that I don’t; I like a nice floral arrangement as well as the next person. Is that a pen and notepad on that desk? Posh, Evans.”

Lily snatches the pen up and chucks it at him; he catches it reflexively. “For your pen collection,” she explains, and a grin spreads on his face.

“How touching you remembered.”

“We didn’t order room service, Black,” Dorcas says, spinning around from where she had been laying on her back to on her front, propping her elbows up on a pillow. “What are you doing here?”

“Flint snores like a hippogriff,” Sirius says, looking at them imploringly. This close to him, Lily marvels at the fact that he really does have extraordinarily long eyelashes. As if reading her mind, he flutters them in her direction. “Can I hang around here for a bit?”

Lily thinks of Professor Laughton, and of the trouble they could be in if they’re caught. Sirius, for being out of his room, and them, for harbouring him. The hesitation must show on her face, because before she can finish her first word, Sirius has interrupted. 

“Laughton’s down at the bar,” Sirius tells them. “He’s not interested in what’s going on. Boot and McCroy are already snogging. Please, Meadowes? Evans? Please?”

Dorcas gives Lily a look. It’s a look that says, quite clearly, that this decision is up to Lily and Lily alone. She wonders, fleetingly, when Sirius Black became her responsibility, and then wonders when she got to the point where she doesn’t exactly mind. 

“Oh, all right,” she says, and Sirius’ grin gets wider. The effect on his face is slightly deranged, but more tolerably so than Lily has ever seen it. “But take those boots off if you’re thinking of getting on the bed.”

::

“The salamanders in the Hufflepuff common room, in third year?”

“Yes. Although I have to give credit to Peter for knowing how to keep the salamanders alive for long enough before the plan was executed. Poor things wouldn’t have lasted in my school bag.”

“Yuck. All right, that one was obvious; you three looked far too smug at breakfast the next morning. The leaping toadstools in the Charms corridor?”

“Not guilty. Although we’d love to find out who that was. That was hilarious.”

“Hmm. The puffskeins that ended up on McGonagall’s hat?”

“James. All James.”

Sirius’ look is one of pure nostalgia, a fond smile on his face. Lily rolls her eyes, although she finds she’s smiling too. Weaning the truth about Sirius Black’s pranking history is surprisingly easy - he’d looked eager at the chance to show off his creativity, truth be told. 

She’s surprised about the leaping toadstools, though. She and Mary had a bet on that, and Lily had been positive that Sirius and the other three were the ones behind it.

“The bundimun secretion in the Slytherin dungeon?” she asks now, sitting up in interest.

Sirius pauses. Lily arches an eyebrow.

“Remus,” Sirius says finally, looking furtive as he says it.

“Remus!” 

“Well, all of us,” Sirius says. “But the initial idea? Remus John Lupin, thank you very much. Ha! What do you make of your precious little noodle now, eh?”

He sits back against the headboard, a triumphant grin on his face. At the opposite end of the bed, Lily can’t help but laugh. Dorcas had fallen asleep on the other bed hours ago and is still gently snoring now. 

“I think you, Potter and Pettigrew corrupted him,” Lily says, but there’s no malice behind her words.

“Oh, Evans. Remus likes a good prank as much as the next person - well, apart from you, obviously, who would never dream of pranking anyone. Especially not putting frogspawn in your sister’s teacup over the summer holidays.”

“How did you hear about that!” Lily cries.

Sirius dissolves into laughter, making Dorcas murmur in her sleep and roll over. Lily glances at her quickly, batting Sirius on the arm to make him be quiet. 

“Alice told Frank, and Frank told us,” Sirius says. “Honestly, Evans, we thought it was brilliant.”

He’s looking at her with something akin to admiration, still chuckling. 

“Well, sometimes Petunia - that’s my sister - she deserves it. She’s so uptight about things, especially anything to do with magic, and -”

Lily breaks off as she realises that Sirius has stopped laughing, and is instead looking at her intently as she talks. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asks.

“I don’t know many people with brothers or sisters,” Sirius says with a small shrug. “James, Remus and Peter are all only children. Well, Pete has some sort of weird step-sister but they hardly ever see each other, and Marlene has Alfie, but they get on so well - it’s different, isn’t it?”

“Petunia and I used to get on,” Lily says, some odd instinct to protect Petunia’s character stirring feebly inside her. “She’s not all bad.”

Sirius nods, looking thoughtful. “Yeah, Reggie and I did. He’s not terrible, I suppose - just a bit soft. Hangs around with the wrong crowd, you know?”

Lily’s thoughts snap to Severus, and coughs pointedly, glancing over at the clock on the wall. They’ve been talking for hours. 

“It’s late,” she says. “Liam and Amber must have stopped snogging by now.”

Sirius slides off the bed at once, landing on both feet with a firm thump. 

“Right you are, Evans,” he says, saluting. “Thanks for tonight.”

“It’s been educational,” she says wryly.

Sirius pauses at the door, looking at her from over his shoulder. “Don’t go telling all our secrets now, Evans, or we’d have to kill you.” He taps the side of his nose, giving her a conspiratorial wink. “Either that or make you one of us.”

::

“What time did he leave last night?” Dorcas demands over breakfast the next morning, leaning so far across the table that her hair nearly falls into her porridge.

Lily takes a bite of her bacon and eggs, feeling oddly cagey.

“It’s not my fault that you fell asleep,” she says. “If you were so bothered about Sirius and I being chaperoned, for goodness sake -”

“Sirius Black stayed in your room last night?” Edie March says, nearly sploshing orange juice down her front as she whirls around to face Lily.

“He didn’t stay,” Lily says, a flush creeping up on her face. “He just - visited, that’s all. He left not long after this one -” and here Lily pauses to jab her fork accusingly in Dorcas’ direction, “- passed out.”

“What did you talk about?” Edie asks, curiosity writ large on her features. She glances over to the other table where Sirius is sat, deep in conversation with Liam Boot and Amber McCroy. “I’ve always thought he’s so interesting.”

“I thought Potter was more your type,” Lily says mildly.

Edie scoffs. “Oh, Potter is good looking enough, I suppose -”

“You suppose? You agreed to go on that Hogsmeade date with him!”

“Yes, and that didn’t turn out as I hoped. He spent half the time skulking about with Pettigrew! I wouldn’t be surprised if he needed his friends on all his dates, to hold his hand for him. Potter’s probably too immature for me anyway.”

“And you think Sirius is the font of maturity, do you?” Lily asks. Out of the corner of her eye she can see Sirius attempting to balance his fork on his nose. 

Edie, however, seems blissfully unaware of this, or perhaps she just doesn’t care, because she fixes Lily with a hungry look and demands to know again what exactly they spoke about last night.

“Oh, um, not much,” Lily says, flustered now under their stares. Even Dorcas is looking curiously at her. “I mean, for a bit we spoke about our families -” Lily hesitates, not wanting to go in to too much detail in that regard; besides wanting to discuss her own turbulent relationship with her sister with Edie March, there’s also the fact that Sirius had spoken to her for the first time about Regulus. Lily had seen something in his expression that she’d never seen before. He’d seemed - sad, almost, and it didn’t seem fair on him to be sat gossiping about it over the breakfast table. “Um, a bit about that, and I asked him about some of the more infamous pranks -”

“Ooh,” Edie says excitedly. “Tell me, was It really them who glued Toby Johnson’s tongue to the roof of his mouth last year, because -”

Because what exactly Lily never gets to find out, because then Professor Laughton gets to his feet, calling for the attention of the students. Lily is glad of the excuse to fall silent, and turns her back on Edie to focus on her teacher. 

“Right, good morning everyone, I hope that you’ve had enough breakfast. It is now time for us to visit Arthur’s Seat. The same rules as yesterday apply. No magic, no wands, just your maps and your wits! Follow me.”

::

“Come on, Lily, keep up!” Dorcas urges from a few feet ahead, pausing on the grassy slope to look back at where Lily is trudging up the worn-down pathway made by thousands of people visiting Arthur’s Seat over the years.

Lily grumbles something in response, but luckily her retort is lost on the wind. Her rude hand gesture, however, is seen perfectly from Dorcas’ vantage point.

“Lily Angela Evans!” Dorcas says loudly, her eyebrows shooting up on her forehead as she _tsks_ and shakes her head. “Someone should have gone to bed earlier than the wee hours of the morning, I think!”

“Ah, Meadowes, don’t give her a hard time. Everyone knows I’m irresistible.”

Lily nearly jumps out of her skin as Sirius appears suddenly at her side. A grin is just about visible through the wind whipping his dark hair across his face; Lily feels the temptation to push him down the slope mounting, but breathes deeply, inhaling the crisp air, and feels the notion pass. They manage to make the climb to the peak of Arthur’s Seat without anybody being seriously injured by the other, and the whole thing feels a lot like progress. 

Once at the top, Sirius slings his bag down on the grass and quickly follows suit, sprawling himself out on the ground. Propped up on his elbows, legs stretched out in front of him, he tilts his face to where the sun is trying to battle its way through the cloud cover. 

Lily stays standing, side by side with Dorcas, and takes in the view of Edinburgh splayed out before them.

Edinburgh Castle is visible in the midst of the city laid out beneath them. Lily feels a tingle down her spine. She loves the outdoors, the freshness of the air, the wind on her face, the open ground beneath her boots and all around her green hills and the vastness of the sky. It reminds her of summers spent in the woods, her childhood spent camping with her parents.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” she murmurs.

Dorcas, stood so close to Lily that Lily can feel her shivering, gives an incredulous look. She looks as if she’s struggling to see the beauty.

“Yeah, bloody fantastic,” Dorcas mutters.

“Here you go,” Sirius says, getting to his feet and shrugging off his coat. He holds it out towards Dorcas, who eyes it for a moment; Sirius shakes the coat in her direction. “I’m naturally warm-blooded, Meadowes. Take the coat. You’re making me a bit nippy just looking at you.”

She does so, muttering a quiet ‘thanks’. Sirius half-shrugs like it’s no big deal, and turns back to look at the view. The coat is ridiculously large on Dorcas, but she looks instantly happier.

“You’re not quite so terrible, are you?” Lily says to him after, when Dorcas has wandered off to take photos with a Muggle camera. 

He cocks his head to one side, his left hand cupped around his ear as if he’s hard of hearing. “I’m sorry, was that a compliment there? It didn’t particularly sound like one, but even so -”

“I’d take it, if I were you,” she says, her eyes fixed on Edinburgh Castle below them.

“My parents would love it here,” she says, breaking the comfortable silence that falls between them. “They’re very outdoorsy, especially my dad. He used to take me camping all the time when I was little. Petunia hated it, said that it was too cold and too wet and too muddy.”

“Petunia sounds like a right boring bint, if you don’t mind me saying so, Evans. If you like, I can point you in the right direction at Zonko’s to a particularly vicious set of nose-biting teacups that would go lovely with a couple of servings of frogspawn tea.”

Lily can feel herself beginning to grin despite herself. She wants to ask more about Regulus, about his family, but can’t think of how to subtly work it into the conversation. It’ll probably be something of a moment ruiner, she thinks, and it’s not as if they’re exactly friends now. Friendlier, maybe, but not friends -

“Say cheese!” Dorcas’ voice bellows out of nowhere as she suddenly pops up in front of them, holding the camera out. “C’mon, Black, scoot a little closer -”

Lily is pulled into Sirius’ side, one of his arms clamped firmly around her shoulders. He’s so forceful that Lily nearly falls over a mound in the grass, but Sirius steadies her. 

“Don’t go falling for me, Evans,” he says, his voice ridiculously low and put on.

The flash goes off before she really comprehends what is happening, and the resulting Polaroid is this: Sirius, grinning wildly, his hair flying everywhere; and Lily caught mid-laugh, squeezed under Sirius’ arm. 

“Can I keep this, Meadowes?” he asks after. “I’m starting a sort of collage on my bedroom wall to please Mother and Father; I reckon a Muggle photo will be just the ticket. You don’t mind, do you, Evans? I think it’s wild that they don’t move!”

“Be my guest,” she says, laughing.

Sirius tucks the photo into the front pocket of his bag, looking delighted, and Lily realises that this, surprisingly - bitingly cold winds, no magic, and Sirius Black for company - is one of the best holidays away from Hogwarts she’s had in a long, long time.


	44. an unwanted letter.

_Late April 1975_

_Peter,_

_Hoping this letter finds you well, son._

_Maureen and I are abroad at the moment, enjoying some well deserved sun and relaxation. England never really was for me, I think, and the climate change seems to be doing Sharon a world of good. Sorry we missed you at Easter - had to go up to Manchester to visit Maz’s mum and dad. You know these things can’t be helped._

_I hope you had a good time at your mum's. Not sure when I'll be able to write next. Things as they are, probably best that we don’t see each other for a bit. I know you understand._

_Keep well._

_Dad._

Peter stares at the letter, not even half a sheet of paper long. Paper, not parchment, Peter notes dully, and written in what looks to be one of those pen thingymajigs that Sirius is so keen on. He even turns the letter over in his hand, checking the back, just in case there’s something he’s missed. There’s not. 

Nothing. 

He looks up, but the owl that delivered it has already taken flight. It takes Peter a moment to realise that the blasted bird has taken his slice of toast right from his hand as well. He didn’t recognise it anyway, the bird, and suddenly he’s not so hungry. He glances down at the letter again; it doesn’t take him more than twenty seconds to re-read it. It looks sloppily written, careless; there’s a tea stain on the upper corner by his name, and Peter stares at this for several long seconds before balling the whole thing up in his fist.

Abroad - abroad where? And since when was his dad a travelling man; since when was England not for him? Peter doesn’t understand - and he didn’t have a good time with his mum watching over him like a hawk the whole week; he’d missed James, on holiday visiting relatives in India; he’d missed writing to Sirius, who had been on a Muggle Studies trip and forbidden from receiving owls; he’d missed Remus, shut away doing whatever he did during the hols when he wasn’t with his mates - it certainly hadn’t been writing to Peter, that’s for sure. None of them had checked in on him, actually. 

They’re not here now, either. It’s rare for them to miss breakfast, but a cursory glance along the Gryffindor table reveals not a single one of his mates. Maybe they’re checking on the potion, Peter thinks. The next stage in their plan to become Animagi has been coming along quite well, according to James; he’s the best of the lot of them at potion-brewing, and it’s James that’s been checking on it dutifully every day from where they’d been secretly making it in an underground passageway beneath the school.

_Maybe I’ll go check to see if that’s where they are_ , Peter thinks. He gets to his feet, still holding the crumpled letter in his fist. He shoves it into the pocket of his robes. He contemplates just throwing it away, but then he wants to show James, to see what he makes of it. 

_Probably best that we don’t see each other for a bit._ What in the name of Merlin was his dad talking about? All right, so things were getting a bit serious now, if one read the papers. The disappearances. The nutters in masks. But since when was Peter’s dad afraid of things like that? What was he going to do, stay out of the country forever with Maureen and Sharon? Never see Peter again? Just hide away like a - like a Muggle?

He can hear his mother’s voice in his ear. _I told you, he’s a good-for-nothing waste of space, Petey. He’ll let you down like did me, mark my words, my boy._

Peter walks without really paying much attention to where he’s going, his mind on other things, and before he knows it he’s outside the statue of a humpbacked witch. They found this passageway a couple of months ago. It leads straight to Honeydukes, but more importantly it’s been where they’ve been brewing the potion to help them become Animagi. Peter taps the witch’s hump with his wand, glancing around beforehand to make sure he’s not being watched, and then heaves himself up and into the passage that opens up before him.

“James?” he calls, into the darkness. There’s no reply, just his own voice echoing back at him. “Sirius? Remus? Hello-oo?”

He waits for a few more moments, deliberating whether or not to go down and check on the potion himself, but then decides against it. Last time, he tripped over Sirius’ foot and would have knocked the cauldron over had James not grabbed him by the neck and pulled him back (“Honestly, Pete, you’ve got to be more careful,” James had sighed, while Sirius looked murderous, which hadn’t really been fair really, considering it had been his foot that had tripped him up in the first place). No, best to leave the potion alone while he’s on his own.

He clambers out of the passageway, and the witch’s hump has only just settled back into place when Peter hears footsteps. He lifts his head expectantly, but it’s not any of his friends. It’s Joseph Mulciber.

Peter shoves his hands into his pockets, keeping his gaze lowered, and goes to walk past him. One of Mulciber’s meaty hands reaches out, clasping Peter by the shoulder. Peter shakes him off, his hand gripping his wand in his pocket.

“Steady, Pettigrew. Someone’s jumpy. I was just going to say - did you drop something?”

Mulciber is looking at something on the floor behind Peter; when he turns his head, he sees the crumpled up letter at the base of the statue. It must have fallen out when Peter was climbing out of the passage. He bends down to pick it up, but Mulciber darts forward, grabbing it before he can.

“Hey!” Peter shouts.

“What’s the matter, Pettigrew? Is it important? Why are you down here by yourself, anyway? Got no Potter to protect you?”

“I don’t need James to protect me,” Peter says, although he wishes his voice sounded even halfway convincing. 

Mulciber snorts. “Right. What’s this then? Got anything to do with where you lot sneak off to all the time?”

Peter’s hands turn cold. He knows that Snape - and consequently, Mulciber - haven’t failed to notice that once a month, Remus disappears, and more often than not one of the other’s will stay up late to wait for him, or slip down to the Hospital Wing in the early hours after sunrise so that Remus has a friendly face to wake up to. 

Personally Peter thinks that they’re idiots not to have worked it out - it’s not hard to, really, once you work out the pattern - but still, the thought of what would happen to Remus if the likes of the Slytherins found out what he was makes him feel as if his stomach has turned to lead.

“Piss off, Mulciber,” he says, his voice finding it’s conviction at last. “It’s just a letter from home.”

“We’ll see,” Mulciber says, and Peter hates him, hates him, hates him. Mulciber unfurls the paper, his eyes scanning over the letter, and a truly ugly smirk appears on his face. “Aww, how sweet. You carry this around with you, Pettigrew? How touching. Although - I don’t know why, to be honest. It seems as if daddy dearest doesn’t have much time for you, does he?”

“You shut your mouth.”

“You mind how you talk to your betters, Pettigrew, or I’ll sew yours shut for you.” Mulciber’s wand is out, pointing directly at Peter’s face as he continues looking at the letter. “My, my. Is your dad a Muggle?”

“My dad’s a wizard!”

“A wizard who writes on this?” Mulciber says, sneering, holding the paper as if it’s something diseased. “Who’s Maureen?”

“None of your business!”

“Ah, so he’s run off with a Muggle, then?” Mulciber says, and his face lights up in a way that makes Peter’s stomach clench when he realises he’s guessed correctly. “Oh I’ve heard about your father. Richard Pettigrew, isn’t that right? It’s all over the Ministry that he’s been sacked - couldn’t do his job properly - my father told me about it. And now he’s left the country in disgrace. Well, no wonder. He’s right, it is for the best. Best for all the filthy Muggle-lovers to get out, to go elsewhere. It’s where embarrassments like your father belong, Pettigrew.”

Peter’s never been in a proper fight before. He’s held James and Sirius back before now, he’s even cheered them on a couple of times, although he’s never felt any desire to join the fray himself. He feels it now though, what they must feel when they get like that, the roaring of blood in his ears. He’s never before thrown a punch, but when his fist lands on the side of Joseph Mulciber’s face, on his cheekbone, Peter feels, for the briefest of seconds, pure and total joy. That is, until the pain sets in, and it feels as though he’s broken his hand.

“Ow - bloody - agh!” 

Mulciber doesn’t go down, not like when Sirius punches somebody; he looks dazed for a moment, and then he hisses a spell, spitting out words that Peter doesn’t recognise like venom. Something hits Peter, right in the gut, doubling him over. He falls to the floor, hitting his knees hard, and just about manages to not fall over.

“That,” Mulciber says darkly, “was a very stupid move, Pettigrew.”

Peter gasps as another jet of light hits him in the stomach. The floor rushes up to meet him, he feels his head connect with the stone flags with a crunch. It feels as though he can’t take enough air in, and he rolls over, trying to reach his wand, retching, but as he’s reaching out his hand, Mulciber kicks his wand further away from him. Peter hears it clattering along the stone floor.

“Your father picked the Muggle side and look where it’s got him. You think he’ll be safe, because he’s taken the cowards way out? I doubt it very much. Just like you - you think you’re safe because you hide behind the likes of Black and Potter? Well, look at that, they’re not here to save you now.”

“Mulciber,” Peter manages, his throat rasping; behind Mulciber, he can make out the dim shapes of three people. Three boys. Peter smiles. “You talk too much.”

Mulciber raises his wand again, but before he manages to get the spell out, someone shouts “ _Levicorpus!_ ” at the same time as someone else yells “ _Expelliarmus!_ ”

Mulciber is whipped into the air, his wand flying out of his hand and hitting the wall. 

Peter has the briefest of glimpses of Remus rushing to his side, saying something, before Peter is sick all over the stone floor and mercifully passes out.

::

“Well, I must say, this is a turn up for the books. I’m used to one of you three being in one of my beds,” Madam Pomfrey says, eyeing Remus, James and Sirius disapprovingly. “But Mr Pettigrew? What on earth happened?”

“Mulciber got him with a nasty jinx. We think he hit his head,” James says. 

“And where is Mr Mulciber, Mr Potter? Hmm?”

“Dangling by his ankles by that statue of the hag with the humpback,” Sirius says, not an ounce of contriteness in his voice.

“Mr Black!”

“I’m sorry, Madam Pomfrey, but I don’t care. He attacked my mate, all right? So yeah, we left him hanging upside down for a bit to think about what he did. It won’t kill him. Sadly,” Sirius adds in an undertone. 

“Look at what he did to Peter!” Remus interjects, a hand on Sirius’ arm.

Sirius, nearly humming with anger, stills slightly at the touch. It’s only for a fraction of a second, but James sees; he stares at Remus’ hand on Sirius’ arm, and then flicks his gaze back up to the Hogwarts matron. 

“Will Pete be okay?” he asks.

On the bed, Peter looks pale; there’s a bruise blossoming on his forehead where he’d hit the floor, and Madam Pomfrey said his knuckles were scrapped too, like he’d hit someone. James thinks of the small cut he’d seen on Mulciber’s cheekbone, and nearly swells with pride.

“He’ll be fine, Mr Potter. As soon as he comes round, he’ll be perfectly all right to return to Gryffindor Tower after those ribs heal. And I suggest that’s where you all stay, do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Madam Pomfrey,” Remus answers for them, ushering Sirius into a chair by the bedside as Madam Pomfrey leaves them to it. “For God’s sake, Sirius, sit down. You look like you’re about to kill someone.”

“Yeah, Mulciber,” Sirius growls. “I mean, who does he think he is? Attacking Pete? He knows he’s the weakest of the lot of us -”

“Sirius,” Remus says, shooting a look at Peter’s prone body on the bed. “He’s right there.”

“He’s unconscious,” Sirius says. “And I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s not his fault, is it? It’s just - Mulciber’s scum, that’s all, going after him the way he did.”

“Mulciber’s always been scum,” James says, pulling up another chair and sitting down on it with a heaved sigh. “Good thing we were going to check on the potion when we did.”

“Do you think that’s what Pete was doing?” Remus asks.

“Oh, Merlin, I hope he hasn’t touched it,” Sirius says with a groan. “I’ll end up knocking him out myself if he’s ballsed it up!”

“Sirius, that’s enough,” Remus snaps. “God, just, go for a walk or something, would you? Calm down, snap out of this mood.”

“Oh, excuse me if I’m not exactly cheery, Moony, but one of my friends has just been attacked -”

“Then decide if you’re angry at him or concerned, for all our sanity -”

“Both of you, stop it,” James says, his voice quiet but firm. Remus and Sirius fall silent at once, Sirius still scowling. On the bed, Peter mumbles something incoherent, his eyes flickering open. James leans forward at once, a slow grin spreading on his face. “Hey, look who’s awake. The Hogwarts fighting champion.”

Peter’s eyes are dazed, unfocused. “Wha’?” he mumbles. “James?” 

His voice rasps like sandpaper being scratched. Remus hands him a glass of water while James explains what happened.

“Mulciber could have done some serious damage, mate. What were you thinking?” James tries to sound stern, but Peter’s pitiful state is making it hard.

“He was having a go at - at my dad,” Peter says, after he’s gulped down the entirety of the water in one and is now signaling for more. 

Remus reaches for the glass, but before he can reach it Sirius knocks his hand to one side and snatches the glass out of Peter’s hand, storming down to the other end of the Hospital Wing. 

Peter watches him go, his blue eyes watery and a crease between his brow. 

“Is Sirius mad at me?” he asks softly.

“He’s always mad at something,” Remus says.

James sighs. “Don’t worry about it, Pete. He’s livid at Mulciber. We all are. Probably best Sirius has something to do. Anyway. You were saying, about your dad?”

Peter swallows, his head bobbing up and down nervously. “Right, yeah. So - I got this letter, right, from my dad, saying he’s moving away, abroad.” 

James feels his eyes widen at this, but he holds back from commenting; Pete looks stressed enough as it is without James adding in his opinion on what a tosser Richard Pettigrew is. 

Peter must notice the look on his face though, because he manages a small, wry smile, and says, “Yeah, exactly. With Maureen and Sharon. He says it’s safer there, things being what they are. And anyway, I was upset and looking for you all but I couldn’t find you -” 

James’ gut twinges at this: they’d been in Moaning Mrytle’s bathroom, the only place James knows for a fact that Peter won’t set foot in without one of them there with him - (”It’s not that she’s a ghost, James, it’s that it’s a _girls toilet._ ”) - and had been busy planning what to get for Peter’s 15th birthday in a couple of weeks. 

“ - I couldn’t find you, so I thought I’d check the potion, in case you were all brewing it without me. On the way out I ran into Mulciber, who saw the letter. He started having a go at my dad, saying he was a filthy Muggle-lover and deserved to be out of the country…”

Peter trails off, and there’s a rare angry look on his face, a tightness around the mouth that James hardly ever sees. Peter is usually the most placid of the lot of them, the slowest fuse to burn. Not that James can blame him, really; if Mulciber had said that tripe in front of him, the Slytherin would have a lot more than a half-hearted punch to deal with.

“Mulciber doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” James says briskly, as Sirius returns with the water. Peter takes it gratefully, drinking half of it in one go before putting the glass back on the bedside table with slightly shaky hands. “It’s madness, all of this anti-Muggle talk lately. Mulciber’s just acting the big man.”

“I’d love to see how cocky they all are out in the real world,” Sirius says, glowering. “I bet they can’t put their wands where their mouths are.”

James thinks of Peter, doubled over on the floor, spluttering for breath; he thinks of Mary MacDonald, hoisted into the air for Mulciber’s amusement; he thinks of the word Mudblood being hissed in the corridors between lessons; and he thinks, sadly, that Sirius is probably wrong.

::

The Gryffindor common room is impossibly loud when Peter is discharged from the Hospital Wing and escorted back to Gryffindor Tower supported by James, Remus and Sirius. It’s a Saturday night and the end of April has brought with it a series of rainy spells in which rain beats relentlessly against the windows; this, coupled with the fact that it’s a Saturday night and the common room is more full of students than usual, it makes Peter’s return to the common room hard to be missed. 

Frank Longbottom looks up from the table he’s at, covered in Herbology books and complicated diagrams of plants. “All right, you four?” he says, his thick eyebrows creasing together as he takes in the state of Peter.

“Never better, Frank,” James says, brushing determinedly past him and to their usual spot by the fire. There’s a couple of scrawny looking First Years sat in their place, and Sirius looms over them, looking imposing, and the younger students are just gathering their bags and things together hurriedly to move out of the way when Lily Evans appears, her arms folded across her chest.

“Leave them be, you lot. They were here first.”

“I don’t care,” Sirius says petulantly. “Peter needs to sit down before he falls down.”

“I’m all right,” Peter protests, although it’s a weak one, and he has to grip tighter to James’ arm even as he’s speaking.

Evans’ sharp green gaze flicks over him appraisingly and then softens into something else.

“What happened?” she asks.

“Mulciber got him,” Sirius says darkly. Evans’ mouth twists into a grimace at the name. 

“Come sit over here,” she says finally, leading the way to where her friends are. Meadowes is sat with her legs over MacDonald's lap on a sofa, reading a book, and she glances up in surprise as Evans leads the foursome over. 

“Mulciber,” Evans says, by way of explanation; MacDonald gives Peter a look of empathy and taps Meadowes’ knees sharply, indicating she move so that Peter can sit down in between them.

“Ta, Evans,” Sirius says gruffly, perching on the arm of the chair she’s sat on, and she smiles briefly at him. 

In the weeks that they’ve been back at school following the Easter holidays, something has changed between Sirius and Evans. Peter’s seen it in the way she’ll ask him to pass the marmalade at breakfast in a perfectly cordial way, and he’ll do so without making a comment that’ll cause her to upend the whole thing over his head. Remus has commented on it, the first time, and Sirius shrugged; said that Evans was all right, really, and Remus had hidden his smirk behind a book and James had nearly fallen off his bed in shock.

“I hope you got him back,” Evans is saying now, to the fervent nods of MacDonald.

“Am I hearing correctly?” Sirius says, the ghost of a grin on his face. 

Evans flicks her hair over her shoulder, a nonchalant gesture. “He’s a right prick,” she says with a small shrug. “If you prank anyone, make sure it’s him.”

James is looking at Evans as if all his Christmases have come at once. Sirius laughs, clapping Evans on the back; she smiles, a pinkish flush creeping across her freckled cheeks. 

Meadowes puts her book down; Peter sees the cover and sees it’s a schoolbook, on Transfiguration, and groans. Exams are less than two months away and he’s got homework to do, but his ribs still ache - whatever Mulciber hit him with, he thinks he’ll probably be feeling the after effects for a while; even the potion Madame Pomfrey gave him hasn’t entirely cured the pain, even though he’d lied and said he felt fine to return to Gryffindor Tower. He knows he should be doing some form of work, but he can’t bring himself to muster any sort of motivation in the slightest.

Thankfully, though, the girls seem to have better plans anyway. Meadowes only put her book down to retrieve a chess set. “Anyone for a match?” she asks brightly. “Boys vs girls?”

James grins. “All right, but I warn you girls now. Pete here’s a chess master.”

“Prepare to lose,” Remus says solemnly.

“Up for it, Pete, mate?” Sirius asks, looking at him closely.

Peter nods, struggling into a more upright position from where he’d been sinking into the comfort of the cushions on the sofa. “You’re on,” he says quietly, taking the board and deftly arranging the pieces into the correct formations. He ignores the groaning protests of his ribs, pushes thoughts of the letter, and Mulciber, and his father to one side.

::

Peter manages to forget about the letter for a little while, if only because of circumstance. Besides the fact that the whole of Fourth Year seems to have been overrun with exams frenzy, there’s also the Animagus potion, bubbling away illegally in the secret passageway; maintaining that and ensuring that no one discovers their secret is enough to keep anyone busy. 

There’s another distraction as well, in the form of girls. Not in the romantic sense - the reminder of his date with Michelle Warburton is enough to make Peter grimace, and he thinks he’s had quite enough of that for a while, thank you very much - no, it’s this: Lily Evans and her friends have started to inch their way into their lives. They’ve always been there, of course, but it’s different now. Peter doesn’t know if it’s because of the Muggle Studies trip, or maybe because they finally see that there are worse people in this castle than them, but it’s not unusual in the following weeks to walk into the common room and find Remus and Dorcas comparing Arithmancy notes, or, more surprisingly, Lily to be quizzing Sirius for the upcoming Muggle Studies exam. James and Lily don’t fight as much; if anything, it’s turned more into playful bickering, and the whole of Gryffindor seem to welcome the fact that the Fourth Year can now all hang out together in each other’s company without a blazing row and someone ending up dangling out of the window.

Peter’s injuries eventually heal. If anything, it’s his pride that’s wounded more than anything, no matter how many times that James claps him on the back and says it’s no big deal, that it could have happened to any of them had Mulciber got them on their own. It probably wouldn’t happen to you, Peter can’t help but think, looking at James. It’s hard to imagine James having to be rescued from anything, ever. He’s just that kind of indestructible boy.

It’s not until one wet and dreary Thursday evening, a couple of days before Pete’s fifteenth birthday, when he even thinks of the actual contents of the letter again. Sirius and James are at Quidditch practice, and Remus had been feeling lethargic and under the weather all day and had gone to bed early. On his own in the common room, Peter declines Frank’s offer of a game of chess and thinks he probably should use his free time to get some work done. He’s got an essay for Professor Graves due in on Monday that he hasn’t even started. He knows for a fact that James hasn’t started it either, but knowing James, he’ll probably write something amazing on Sunday evening all in one go.

The library is relatively busy when Peter arrives, making a beeline for the Defence Against the Dark Arts section. He passes a worried looking Seventh Year who is muttering compulsively to herself, and a few of his fellow Fourth Years who barely even acknowledge him as he walks by. He scans the bookshelves for the text he needs, swearing under his breath when it’s not there amongst the other books.

“Looking for something, Pettigrew?” a voice asks behind him.

Peter turns. In a gloomy corner, so dark that Peter’s surprised he can even read in it, is Snape. And, sure enough, he’s holding up the exact book that Peter needs.

“Has someone not started their essay for Graves?” Snape asks, his lips curling unpleasantly. 

“Well, clearly you haven’t either,” Peter retorts. 

“Oh, I have,” Snape says lightly. “I’m merely reading this for a bit more background information on the subject.”

_Freak_ , Peter thinks, but he doesn’t voice it aloud. He really does need that book. 

“So, can I have it?” he asks, forcing himself to sound at least halfway polite.

“Not with your friends?” Snape asks.

Peter waves a hand impatiently. “Of course I’m not with them, Snape, can you see them?” 

“I always rather thought that seeing them didn’t make a different to whether or not they were lurking about,” Snape says smoothly.

Peter blinks, his tongue suddenly feeling heavy. Surely Snape doesn’t know about the Cloak? Peter tries to laugh the comment off, like Sirius would, only it comes out high-pitched. Snape’s eyes narrow as if he’s trying to work something out, his expression calculating. 

_Don’t rise to it. Don’t say anything._

“Look, can I have that bloody book?”

“Say please.”

Snape’s smile is truly disgusting. Greasy, just like the rest of him.

“Get bent,” Peter mutters, turning to go.

“I’m surprised you’re out and about without them, that’s all, after your little run-in with Joseph the other week.”

Peter stops in his tracks. He can feel his hands, sweaty and clammy when he curls them into fists at his sides. Snape’s laugh is soft behind him. Peter knows he’s just trying to goad him, probably hoping that Peter will react in the same way he did with Mulciber, right here in the library under Madam Pince’s watchful stare. Snape would love it if Gryffindor got docked a few points. _That’s all he’s after, just leave it —_

“Although, I do feel I have to apologise on his behalf,” Snape says next, and Peter is so surprised that he actually turns around to look at Snape again.

“You what?”

“I know what it’s like to be attacked,” Snape says lowly. “Not pleasant, to feel like you can’t walk the halls of this castle without being on your guard, is it, Pettigrew?”

“Oh, so I deserved it, did I?” Peter asks.

“Not at all,” Snape says softly. “Joseph forgets himself sometimes. He told me what happened -”

“- I bet he did,” Peter mutters, his ears burning at the thought of the Slytherins having a good old laugh at him, useless Peter Pettigrew.

“Joseph doesn’t know what it’s like, to be like us.”

“We’re not alike!” Peter says, disgusted.

Snape’s eyes never waver from him. He doesn’t seem to blink a lot.

“Oh, but aren’t we? My father would probably love to abandon me, as well, you know.”

“My father did not abandon me!” Peter yells.

Madam Pince looks up sharply. 

“Of course not. He’s gone on holiday, yes? With his new wife? A Muggle, am I correct? It must disappoint you, to know your father chose the Muggle life over you. My own father abhors the magical world, but he’s a Muggle himself. Interesting, isn’t it, how prejudiced they can be. This Maureen certainly seems to have great influence over your father.”

“You have no idea what you’re on about,” Peter says. “And I’m leaving now.”

Snape slides the book across the table towards him. “Here you go.”

The book sits between them like an ugly peace offering. 

Peter eyes him for a second, and then the book. _Sod it, Remus can help me_ , he thinks, and with one last repulsed look at Snape, Peter leaves the book and Snape behind.

::

Later in the common room, Peter can’t concentrate. Remus, once roused from his nap, had given him his Defence essay to look over, but try as he might, Peter just can’t shake off the memory of his encounter with Snape, and focus on anything resembling productivity. James and Sirius don’t help matters, bursting in through the portrait hole in a shower of mud and rain, shouting to anyone and everyone about how Alfie McKinnon had nearly nose-dived off his broom and had to be saved by Richie Dennison. The anecdote charms Mary, who gives Richie a sickening look and calls him her hero; but Lily, who has just been covered in a splattering of muddy rainwater from Sirius shaking his hair out, threatens to jinx the both of them. 

“Are you okay?” Remus asks Peter, watching him intently. 

The rest of the common room are watching the jovial bantering back-and-forth between James, Sirius and Lily, but Peter is just staring miserably at his blank piece of parchment. He looks up hastily, realising his moping hasn’t gone unnoticed by Remus, and forces himself to smile.

“I’m fine. Just a bit tired, that’s all. Might call it an early night and give this essay another bash tomorrow.”

“I’ll come with you to the library, if you like, after lessons,” Remus offers. 

Peter shakes his head. “No, you’re all right, Moony. I mean, the full moon isn’t far away; you don’t want to be stuck in the library with me when you could be resting.”

Remus frowns, but doesn’t push it any further, and lets Peter go without another word. 

Up in the quiet of the dorm, Peter lies on his four-poster and stares up at the canopy, Snape’s slimy voice in his ear. _Your father chose the Muggle life over you…interesting, isn’t it, how prejudiced they can be…_

Peter thinks of Sharon and her ill-disguised contempt when he’d tried to talk to her last about his schoolwork, of Maureen’s almost patronising look, like she didn’t believe him when he said that Floo travel was quicker and safer than a car. He thinks also of Lily, and about what Sirius told him about her sister, some stuck up snob who apparently bullied Lily just because she’s a witch. All of them Muggles; all with completely ridiculous views about magic.

“What do they know,” Peter says grumpily. “They’re just stupid Muggles.”

He inhales sharply, suddenly acutely grateful that he’s alone in the room. If James heard what he just said…

Peter scrubs a hand over his face, squeezing his eyes shut. He’s tired, that’s all, and cranky, and being in the general vicinity of Snape for longer than two seconds is enough to stress anyone out. 

There’s the sound of shouting and thumping from nearby, the usual indicator that James and Sirius are on their way up to the dormitory, probably racing each other. Not in the mood to talk to them, and still with the uneasy cloying sense of guilt lingering on him, Peter closes the curtains around his bed and pretends to be asleep as the door to the room bangs open and his friends tumble inside.

He tries to block out the sounds of his mates as they laugh and joke with each other, only half-heartedly shushing each other when one of them gets too loud. Eventually Peter falls into a restless sleep, permeated with dreams of Snape’s oily smile, Maureen’s smug, superior expression, and the look of disappointment on James’ face if he could see into some of his thoughts.


	45. losing the game.

_Early May 1975._

It’s a brilliantly sunny day; Regulus can see the rays of light piercing the lake even this far down, illuminating the craggy rocks that the younger merpeople like to play hide-and-seek in. Any other time, and he would probably be out taking advantage of these conditions and getting some much needed Quidditch practice - their match against Hufflepuff is looming, and if they lose, they’re out of the running for the Cup. But, as it is, he’s in the common room, trying not to be distracted by the occasional dazzle of light as a fin or tail from some creature flicks past the windows. 

His Charms book lay on the table before him, open on a page detailing the correct wrist action for a successful Cheering Charm. It’s funny, in a way, because if he could get the wand movement right, then he’d dearly love to cast one on himself, and the fact that he’s struggling with it is only making his mood worse.

There’s hardly anyone in the common room today, so the sound of footsteps on the stone floor makes him look up in curiosity. Severus is appearing from the hall that leads from the boys’ dorms, carrying a stack of books in front of him so that all Regulus has to recognise him by is his robes, more grey than black, and several inches too short at the ankle. 

“Not enjoying this fine weather we’re having?” Regulus calls, and can’t help but laugh when Severus jumps and the topmost book slides from the pile.

“Oh, it’s you,” Severus says, slightly disapproving. “I could say the same thing. Not out on your broomstick?”

He bends down to retrieve the book from the floor, his lank hair falling in his face. Regulus watches him in interest. Severus has always been a point of curiosity in his life; Regulus never seems to know what to make of him. Brusque, most of the time; sardonic at best; and yet, sometimes, unexpectedly kind in his own sort of way. He never seems bothered with normal interests of everyone else at school, such as Quidditch or even Gobstones or, Merlin forbid, girls. Regulus would wonder about that last part, if not for the fact that it’s common gossip that Severus used to quite fancy that Evans girl. Then that’s another mystery unto itself - Severus is a half-blood, but it’s known throughout the House that he detests his Muggle lineage, and yet he scoffed at the Death Eater’s at the beginning of term…

“I need to practice Cheering Charms. I’m dreadfully behind, you see; I’m half afraid that Flitwick will write to my mother if I can’t grasp it.”

“Cheering Charms are easy,” Severus says, displaying his tendency to either not care or not notice when he’s being rude. 

Regulus shrugs, too used to Severus by now to take offence. “And what are you doing with those books? You’ll have the back of an eighty year old if you’re not careful. You’ll be in an early grave, what with the way you carry so many around.”

“I’ll probably still outlive you, what with the way you fly.”

Regulus blinks, and then, to his astonishment, sees that Severus is smiling. Joking with him. As Regulus is processing this - Severus Snape, making a joke - Severus hauls the books on to the table, covering Regulus’ page on Cheering Charms. Regulus picks up the first one, frowning at the title. 

“ _A Brief History of the Persecution of Wizarding Kind_. Brief? Goodness me, Severus, there’s about a thousand pages.” 

As Regulus looks, he sees that all the books are of a similar kind. Books on wizarding history, mostly about how they’ve adapted to live with Muggles and been forced into hiding, and a hefty tome dedicated to the Salem witch trials.

“Is this for your History of Magic class?” Regulus asks.

Severus shakes his head. “No, just for my own reading.”

“Goodness, Severus,” Regulus says again. “Do you ever get any fresh air?” He glances up at Severus’ sallow complexion, his expression disdainful, and says, quickly, “Never mind. So, really, what’s this for - surely it can’t be fun, reading about how Muggles used to burn our kind at the stake?”

“Not fun, no,” Severus says softly. “But useful, don’t you agree, to know our history and it’s pitfalls? I’ve been reading a particularly interesting chapter about the Statute of Secrecy, and all the fuss it kicked up when it first became approved. I believe your own family was mentioned a few times as being firmly in the opposition for it.”

Regulus can’t remember all of the lessons that Mother tried to teach him when he was a boy; mostly all he remembers is sitting at a desk in a dusty room, kicking his little legs out in front of him and laughing when Sirius said rude things to the governess. 

“That sounds about right,” he says. “My family are definitely very…passionate.”

He thinks then, suddenly, of the problem that has been bothering him since last year, when his parents - his mother, to be precise - made it perfectly clear that, since Sirius was out of the question for the match, they expected him to court Cressida Carrow. Personally, Regulus didn’t think much of Cressida either. She talked too much, and was ignorant of politics; when Regulus had tried to talk to her about the rising tensions in certain circles, about how Head Auror Simeon Gloshwick was probably due to get the sack any day now, and how Minister for Magic Vaynor was losing popularity, Cressida had merely stared at him for a full five seconds before ignoring the topic completely, and instead asking him how he was finding Care of Magical Creatures. But still, attracted to her or no, his parents had made a deal with the Carrow family, apparently, and it would make the Blacks look bad if they did not honour the agreement.

“Blacks do not back out of agreements,” his mother had said.

Regulus had wanted to argue, had pointed out that he wasn’t even the right Black son, not the one the Carrows were initially promised, so what did it matter? Surely the Carrows would rather their daughter be married to the heir? Mother had gotten impatient with him then, and didn’t reply to his owl on the subject, leaving Regulus to miserable little dates in Hogsmeade where he has to hold Cressida’s hand and listen to her talk about how hard she's finding Herbology.

“My parents want me to marry,” Regulus says, before he can think better about confiding in Severus.

Severus looks up from his book, fixes Regulus with that inky stare. 

“Aren’t you a bit young?”

“Not now, obviously,” Regulus says impatiently. “They’re trying to shove me together with that Carrow girl in my year.”

“Cressida?” Severus surprises Regulus by saying. Regulus didn’t know that Severus knew of any girls save Lily Evans. “She’s not all that bad. I tutored her in Potions a while back. Quick learner.”

“Well, she can’t be that bright if she’s struggling with Herbology,” Regulus mutters. 

“It could be a worse match, could it not? As I understand it, it’s the norm for Pure-blood families to do this sort of thing. Weren’t your cousins arranged marriages too? I remember Narcissa telling me that time we met them in Hogsmeade.”

“That’s different,” Regulus says. “Narcissa is crazy for Lucius, always had been. And Bellatrix gets along all right with Rodolphus. I mean, they argue a bit, but they have similar interests, I suppose.”

“I’m sure you’ll grow to be fond enough of Cressida,” Severus says, unmoved by Regulus’ plight.

Regulus doesn’t get a chance to argue as Severus begins gathering his books up, the conversation clearly over. He says something about the library that Regulus barely registers, his own thoughts overcome with dread about his - for lack of a better word - _relationship troubles_. 

Not to mention the Quidditch match that’s coming up. Regulus still remembers the burning humiliation of losing his first ever game, and although they won their match against Ravenclaw, Bulstrode has been keeping everyone on edge by reminding them that they need to win against Hufflepuff. He has a particular habit of glaring at Regulus whenever he says this, and practices have become almost unbearable. It’s not helped by the fact that Cressida often turns up in the stands to watch him, waving and cooing and generally being a distraction, so much so that once the Snitch had been fluttering right by Regulus’ ear and he hadn’t noticed. Bulstrode had been so mad that spittle had flown from his mouth as he shouted at Regulus in the changing rooms after, and the team had ignored him for two subsequent practices, leaving him to fly on his broom above the rest, sullen and alone.

::

Regulus’ nerves only increase over the next couple of days, so much so that on the Friday before the game, Regulus completely botches up his Transfiguration practical. They’re working on textures and form, and the rock that Regulus is meant to be transfiguring into a feather remains stony and solid. He bends low over his desk, eye-to-eye with the rock, trying to concentrate. 

Cressida chooses that moment to appear at his shoulder, giggling. 

“Not nervous for the game tomorrow, are you?” she asks, and Regulus is so flustered that he sends the rock zooming across the classroom, nearly clouting McGonagall around the head. 

“I hope you don’t let the Snitch get away from you as easily,” Artie Travers calls from across the room as Regulus, red-faced and furious, marches across the room to retrieve his rock from a reproachful looking McGonagall.

He can’t find it in himself to eat anything for breakfast the next morning. He’s not sure if it’s nerves or the fact that Cressida has sat next to him, trying to feed him bits of scrambled egg off of her fork. The rest of the team keep looking his way, smirking. In the end Regulus snaps at Cressida to leave him alone and she flounces off with an indignant huff to go and sit with Laura Macmillan and Matilda Rowle at the other end of the table.

The sun is still shining when the Slytherin team make their way from the changing rooms, out on to the Quidditch pitch. Squinting against the bright light, Regulus feels his heart sink. How is he supposed to see the Snitch in these conditions? 

Most of the crowd are donning black and yellow in support of Hufflepuff; it doesn’t exactly boost Regulus’ spirits any. He shoulders his broom, and gets into position as Bulstrode is gripping hands with the Hufflepuff Captain.

Madam Hooch’s whistle pierces through the cacophony of cheers as the balls are released into the air. Regulus sees the Snitch for a fraction of a second before it’s gone from view, lost in the dazzling sun, and Regulus kicks off, feeling as though he’s leaving all his confidence on the ground behind him.

::

They lose the game.

The only consolation Regulus can think of is that at least it didn’t go on for very long, and so he’s put out of his misery fairly quickly. 

He lands back on the ground with a dejected thump, the roars and cheers from the stands echoing hollowly in his ears. A few feet away the Hufflepuff team are a tangle of black and yellow, their Seeker thrust above them all on their shoulders. 

Bulstrode dismounts his own broom nearby, and spares Regulus a look full of such disdain that Regulus flinches. The Captain doesn’t say anything to him though, just walks away towards the changing rooms with a slouch to his shoulders. Regulus releases the breath he’s been holding, thinking that maybe he’ll just head straight back to the common room, avoid the team -

“Nice going, Black,” sneers George Reece, their Keeper, looming suddenly over Regulus.

“We’re out of the running for the Cup now,” says William Greengrass, the other Beater.

“I didn’t need the reminder, thank you,” Regulus says stiffly. 

Greengrass is only a Second Year, but he’s gripping his club tightly, and the rest of the team are glaring at Regulus as though this is all entirely his fault. Severus’ words play over in his mind. There are six other players on the team, he wants to shout at them, but he doesn’t. Instead he walks away, or starts to anyway, until he hears Reece’s jeering voice again.

“Trust us to land a Seeker that can’t seek.”

“And a Keeper that can’t keep anything out of the hoops, as well, that’s really rotten luck,” says a new voice, and Regulus turns his head a fraction, although he knows who it is all too well. His feeling of dread intensifies.

“Honestly, Reece, with gorilla arms like yours, you’d think that you’d be able to manage a bit more than uncoordinated flailing, but I suppose it takes all your brain power to not fall off your broom, am I right?”

Regulus doesn’t know why Sirius is on the pitch at all, and when he looks over he barely suppresses a groan when he sees that Potter is there as well, and, inexplicably, Lily Evans. Since when were they friendly?

“What are you doing here, Black?” Reece asks. 

“Need your brother to fight your battles, Regulus?” Greengrass snickers.

Madam Hooch has noticed the pitch invasion as well, and has hurried over. “Mr Black, Mr Potter, this is not your match -”

“Come on, Sirius,” Evans says, placing her hand on his arm.

This gesture doesn’t go unnoticed by the team. 

“Well, well, well,” Reece says. “For all of your idiotic choices in life, Black, I wouldn’t have pegged you for a Mudblood lover. Always thought you were a bit bent, actually -”

Sirius cocks his arm back, but doesn’t get a chance to throw his punch; Potter gets there first, sinking his fist into Reece’s stomach. Evans blinks, her face ghostly white, athough she makes no move to restrain either boy. 

Greengrass raises his wand, aims it in the direction of Sirius and Potter. Regulus doesn’t know who he’s going for, but doesn’t wait to find out. He points his own wand at his teammate’s smirking face and shouts, “Impedimenta!” and feels a rush of satisfaction as Greengrass is lifted off his feet, flying a few feet backwards, his Beaters bat and wand both thrown from his hands.

“ENOUGH!” Madam Hooch bellows, brandishing her own wand. “That’s it - Potter, Misters Black, Greengrass and Reece - detention -”

“He attacked me!” Reece shouts indignantly.

“I’d do it again if you ever use that word in front of me, you f -”

“Mr Potter!”

“Fine, whatever. But Sirius didn’t even do anything!” Potter says.

“You instigated this, Mr Black,” Madam Hooch says, looking at Sirius. He just shrugs, uncaring.. “You had no business being on this pitch. Now, all of you, report to your Heads of House before I decide I’m being too lenient!”

The three Gryffindors take their leave of the pitch first. Sirius catches Regulus’ eye on his way past, and Regulus feels his stomach give a strange twist as his brother gives him a curious once-over and the smallest, almost indiscernible nod.

::

Regulus’s detention sees him clearing out the school Quidditch sheds with Reece and Greengrass the following weekend. The other two boys don’t speak to him, which suits him fine, and at least neither of them make any more jabs at his Seeking abilities. They finish in the evening as dusk is drawing in, and Regulus takes a different way back to the castle, wanting a walk in the fresh air after hours crammed in a shed sweeping broom bristles from the floor and rearranging Quaffles.

Regulus takes a detour via Hagrid’s hut. The chimney is smoking merrily and he can hear what sounds like pots and pans being clanged together inside as he walks past the front door. He keeps a wary eye on that blasted tree that looms up ahead; in the summer evening gloam, Regulus can just see the Willow’s branches twisting and turning ever so slightly, but it’s common knowledge that Simon Forster got a black-eye after trying to touch the trunk on a dare, and so Regulus keeps a wide berth. 

The entrance hall is completely deserted when Regulus finally pushes open the large oak doors and makes his way back inside the castle. Heading in the direction of the dungeons, Regulus suddenly becomes aware of at least one other set of footsteps echoing across the stone floor. He hangs back at the top of the stairs to see who it is, and sees first a mop of messy black hair, and then the top of someone else’s head not unlike his own -

“Potter,” Regulus says, more to get his attention than to actually greet him, because James Potter apparently feels that he doesn’t need to look where he’s going when walking up the stairs.

Potter stops on the last step, and Sirius nearly walks into him. Looking up and seeing Regulus, Sirius gets another strange expression on his face. Potter coughs, looks back at Sirius, and there seems to be some sort of unspoken communication going on between the two friends - Regulus feels a squirm of something that he refuses to label jealousy - and then Sirius nods, and Potter continues up the steps to the hall and upwards towards the main staircase, leaving the brothers alone.

“What are you doing in the dungeons?” Regulus asks, eyeing Sirius suspiciously and wondering if he’s going to go back to his common room to find it flooded or blown to bits or worse.

“McGonagall made us help Slughorn for our detention. Cleaning cauldrons, polishing vials - you know, nothing too bad.”

“Oh, I forget that detentions are old hat to you,” Regulus says.

Sirius looks like he nearly grins, but doesn’t. “What about yours? Your first one ever, I suppose?”

“It is not,” Regulus lies, and a second later wonders why he has to prove himself to Sirius of all people, as if landing oneself in detention all the time is something to be proud of at all. “I had to clean out the Quidditch sheds with Greengrass and Reece.”

“That just sounds like fun!” Sirius says.

“I’m assuming that’s why they didn’t do the same for you and Potter,” Regulus says dryly.

Sirius walks up the last two steps; now on even footing with Regulus, Sirius is suddenly taller. Reflexively, Regulus takes a step backwards, and Sirius cocks his head to one side, frowning at him.

“And I wish you’d stop looking at me like that!” Regulus says.

“Like what?”

“Like - I don’t know,” Regulus says helplessly. “I just keep seeing you giving me funny looks.”

“Maybe I’m giving you funny looks because you keep on staring at me,” Sirius suggests. Regulus gives him a narrow look, and Sirius sighs. “Oh, Reg. You’re so uptight all the time. You’re not still wound up about the game, are you?” 

The sudden change in subject makes Regulus pause a moment to work out what they’re even talking about. Conversations with Sirius often leave him feeling this way, out of sorts and bombarded; Regulus had nearly forgotten what it’s like to be in the conversational boxing ring with his brother.

“Your team aren’t giving you a hard time about losing?” Sirius presses, when Regulus doesn’t answer.

“What? No, no. They’re not - they’re not really talking much to me at all, really,” Regulus says, which is true enough and fine by him anyway.

“Bunch of sore losers,” Sirius says. “What kind of Captain skulks off while the rest of the team gang up on the Seeker? You’re one player, Reg. You didn’t lose them the game, you know.”

Regulus breathes deeply. He’s had enough of discussing Quidditch and people trying to make him feel better. He thinks longingly of his bed; he really just wants to sleep.

“How lovely it sounds, being on the Gryffindor team,” he mutters.

“Better than yours, if that’s how they treat you! If I hadn’t have come down to see what was going on -”

“I don’t need your protection, Sirius! It had absolutely nothing to do with you!”

“You need to learn to stick up for yourself,” Sirius says gruffly. “That’s all I’m saying.”

“Well, don’t. I’m going to bed. Excuse me.”

For a moment Regulus thinks that Sirius isn’t going to get out of his way. His expression gets that tight, defensive look that Regulus sees on his face most often around Mother, tensed for a reaction. Regulus feels his brother’s body stiffen as he walks by, sees his shoulders draw back, his mouth open as if he’s going to say something. Regulus pauses, shoulder to shoulder with his brother, each looking the other way. 

Merlin, he wants to say something.

“Are you coming home for summer?” 

It’s not really what meant to come out at all. He wants to say something about how unbearable Mother is being, because Sirius always used to make him feel better about it when Walburga Black was on one of her tirades. He wants to tell Sirius about Cressida, because he knows that Sirius will probably have a joke on hand about it, or he’ll make Regulus see that there is a way out. 

Regulus knows Sirius probably thinks him whiny, repeating the same question he gets asked by their parents.

Sirius nods shortly. “Yeah. I’ll come back to Grimmauld for a bit, I think.”

“But then you’ll go back to the Potter’s,” Regulus says, and it’s not a question, and so it doesn’t really matter that Sirius doesn’t answer. 

He carries on down the steps to the common room without another word.


	46. you win some, you lose some.

_Late May 1975._

The end of May is upon them before anyone is ready. Swamped in homework and revision for exams, James thinks longingly of First and Second, and even Third Year, when the summer months had meant lounging in the shade of the trees near the lake, occasionally glancing at his notes or cracking open a textbook to lazily quiz Sirius, Remus and Peter on whatever was most likely to be in the end of year tests, but without any real worry or concern. There’s a lot more on this year, and - as Dorcas Meadowes had informed them all the week before, to a chorus of boos and heckles from the Gryffindor Fourth Years - it’s only going to get worse as they progress to O.W.L’s. 

Confident though he is in Transfiguration, and as uncaring as he is towards Divination and History of Magic, James still can’t hide the flutter of worry he feels at the end of his lessons when the teachers load on an extra roll of parchment to a particularly tricky essay, or hint at what may be coming in the exams, with a sadistic sort of twinkle in their eyes.

School work aside, the last match of the Quidditch season is soon. Between lessons James and Sirius keep finding their pathway blocked by Adric, who insists on bothering them about formation and techniques, until Sirius threatens to practice his Beating on Adric’s head if he doesn’t shut up. 

“We know, Adric!” Sirius shouts, whilst their on their way to Potions and the Captain has appeared, as if Summoned, from behind a suit of armour. “We need to beat Ravenclaw, we need to do it by at least 230 points to get the Cup, you’ll drown yourself in the lake if we lose. We _know_.”

There’s still the matter of the Animagus potion as well, bubbling merrily away beneath the statue of the humpbacked witch. When James isn’t studying, practicing Quidditch, or sleeping, he seems to spend all his time in that passageway, struggling in the gloom to read instructions from the advanced Transfiguration book they keep swiping from the library with the help of the Invisibility Cloak. They didn’t want to arouse Madam Pince’s suspicion by continually checking it out, or, Merlin forbid, get her on their case by taking it and never returning it, so every fortnight one of the boys will take the Cloak and sneak the book away from the shelves in the library, and replace it again a few days later.

The potion may be nearly brewed, due to be ready on the night of the next full moon - “What a shame I won’t be here to watch you all down this thing,” Remus had said grimly - but there’s still a long way to go. James has never seen a magical process with so many different and difficult elements. Potion work, spell work, not to mention learning to cast the incantation wordlessly, wandlessly, and then retain enough sense of self to be able to transform back to human. No wonder most people just don’t bother.

The night before the final Quidditch match, Adric has grouped most of the team together in one of the far corners and, from what James can tell, is going over - again - tactics that will help them secure the Cup. James, sat by the fire with Sirius, Peter, and Remus, is trying his best to block out Adric’s voice and instead concentrate on labeling his Herbology diagrams.

“Watch out,” Peter whispers suddenly. “Captain approaching.”

James groans, but there’s no time to run. Adric looms over the back of the sofa James and Sirius are sat on. 

“Boys. Didn’t fancy coming to the team meeting?”

“Doesn’t look like much of a meeting,” Sirius says, with a significant look over at where Alfie, Rachel and the others are all looking like they’ve been hit in the stomach with Bludgers. “Did you give them another one of your rousing pep-talks?”

“Watch it, Black,” Adric says warningly.

James sighs, and turns his body so that he can look at his Captain dead on, rather than upside down.

“Adric. Look. We know all the tactics. We’ve been on this team for two years. We’ve been training in all weathers, three times a week and every Saturday so far. If we’re not ready to beat Ravenclaw tomorrow by now, there’s not much else that lecturing the rest of the team is going to solve.”

Adric stares at him for a long while. For a moment James thinks he’s pushed it, that Adric is going to lose it with him, but then the Sixth Year’s shoulders slump. “You’re right,” he says. “We’re ready, I suppose.”

He doesn’t sound too convincing. James reaches up to give him an encouraging pat on the shoulder.

“Don’t say it like that. We are ready! We’ve got this. 230 points, right? Easy.”

“Go Gryffindor,” Remus murmurs, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth as Adric walks away, noticeably cheered. “You’ll make a great leader one day, Captain Potter. Very motivating.”

“Oh, shut it,” James says, although he’s smiling, and Captain Potter does have a nice ring to it.

He glances over at the rest of the team again, but his attention is caught by a particular shade of dark red hair just whipping out of sight up the stairs to the girl’s dormitories. He wonders if Lily heard his talk with Adric, or if she’ll be at the game tomorrow -

“Staring like that won’t make her suddenly appear, James, old boy,” Sirius says loudly.

James pulls his piece of parchment closer to him, studying the diagram on it intently. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Evans, mate,” Sirius says, putting one hand over the illustration of the Snarfalump that James is trying to label, obscuring his view and forcing James to look up into that wide, know-it-all grin. “You really fancy her.”

It feels distinctly hot in the common room all of a sudden, even though the fire is out. Peter and Remus have both stopped pretending to study, and are looking at him curiously to see what his reaction will be. 

“I, well, yeah.” James coughs and runs a hand through his hair, resiting the urge to loosen his tie. “She’s pretty. I mean, I have eyes -”

“It’s more than that,” Sirius insists. “I’ve been watching you lately. It’s more than how you were with Edie March, or Pete with his blondes, or Remus and his - Remus and his tea,” Sirius says after a thoughtful pause. Remus snorts, going back to his book. “You like Lily Evans.”

“That watching me thing? Bit creepy, to be honest,” James mutters, but Sirius will not be distracted. 

“I admit, I had Evans pegged as a boring old busybody,” he says, steamrollering on before James can get another word out. “But since we’ve been hanging out, more harmonious, like, I say - go for it.”

“You what?” James says warily.

“Go for it,” Sirius repeats. He looks almost - sincere; earnest. It’s a bit jarring. “That’s my advice. If you want it, that is.”

It hasn’t been Sirius’ advice that James has wanted so much as his approval, and now, now that he has it, James isn’t quite sure what to say. He can’t help the little flutters that he’s been getting every time he talks to Lily, how much he’s been enjoying their hanging out together without anybody hexing anyone else. He’s laid off of Snape a bit - although, he thinks, that may be more because he’s had so little time to invest in pranks of any kind, what with everything going on - and he feels fairly confident that he and Lily are friends. They’re friendly, at any rate, and now Sirius is saying it’s all right. 

“I’ll still mercilessly take the piss out of you and your hopeless infatuation, of course,” Sirius continues. “But have at it, my friend.”

“I’m not hopelessly infatuated,” James argues, his thoughts already on how best to ask Lily out on a date.

As if reading his mind, Peter says, not unkindly, “No messages written on toast this time, eh?”

Remus and Sirius nod their agreement. James drops his head into his hands, feeling the urge to yank his hair out.

As if he didn’t have enough to worry about.

::

The next morning, James walks into breakfast to see that half of the Great Hall has turned into a sea of blue. The Slytherins have donned the Ravenclaw colours for the upcoming match, and as he takes his seat with the rest of the Gryffindors, he hears Mulciber’s voice shouting, “You’re going down, losers!”

“You’d think it was their match, the way they’re carrying on,” Marlene says, shooting a disdainful look at the Slytherin table whilst reaching across to help herself to some toast. “Slimy gits. Hey, Alf, you’re not worried, are you?”

Alfie shakes his head, but it doesn’t escape James’ notice that he’s barely made a dent in his poached eggs.

James is starting on his own breakfast when he senses someone standing behind him. He whips around, half expecting it to be a Slytherin up to something, but it’s not. It’s Benjy Fenwick.

“I just came over to say, I don’t approve of all that,” Fenwick says, addressing the Gryffindor team. He jerks his head in the direction of the Slytherins. “I for one don’t want their support, and I want you to know that it’s not come from us.”

Lily has heard what Fenwick is saying, and is beaming a him. James feels the simultaneous urge to shake Fenwick’s hand and to kick him in the shin.

Adric nods at the Ravenclaw Captain. “No worries, Fenwick. See you on the pitch.”

"That was decent of him," Remus says, pouring milk into his tea.

"Bit of a suck-up, if you ask me," Sirius says, watching Fenwick return to the Ravenclaw table. "Probably some sort of nice guy act to throw us off."

Even as the Seeker crosses the room, a few Slytherins decked in blue stand up to herald his return over to their side of the Hall, clapping and mock-bowing.

James, who hasn't forgotten the confrontation between his team and the Ravenclaws at the beginning of the year, tears into his toast and shrugs.

Peter says, suddenly, "Your brother isn't wearing blue, Sirius."

He waves his knife in the direction of the Slytherin table but Sirius doesn't even bother turning around to look. James does, though. Craning his neck to see past the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables, James spots Regulus sat between Aegir Wilkes and Evan Rosier. They are both sporting blue rosettes on the front of their robes, but the youngest Black is in his school robes and nothing more. Regulus is reading _The Daily Prophet_ , flicking through the pages with one hand, whilst idly stirring a spoon around in the cup in front of him with his other. He seems to be paying zero attention to the Quidditch related fuss going on around him.

“Maybe he’s not watching the game,” Remus suggests.

James doesn’t even need to look at Sirius to know he’ll be frowning at his mug of coffee right about now. 

“He will be,” Sirius says shortly.

James piles his plate with more kippers, for the protein, and keeps his watch on the youngest Black brother across the room until he is distracted by Severus Snape swooping in to the seat next to Regulus. They make an odd pair, James thinks: Regulus, with his air of indifference, casual about his central position at the table, his place secure even after the ruckus of his previous Quidditch game; and then Snape, his dark eyes darting swiftly along the rows of students as though he’s not entirely sure of his place there amongst the Slytherin elite. The others made room for him though, James notices, and when Snape leans forward to engage Regulus in conversation, Regulus smiles - it’s in this aspect that the Black brothers differ the most, as Sirius is always generous and dazzling with his smiles, and Regulus seems as though he’s trying not to let his get too loose. Still, there’s no denying it is a smile, and that Snape caused it. 

James knows enough of the Black family to know that it is a decidedly odd match. If Sirius befriending a blood traitor and two half-bloods is a big deal in the Black household, he can only assume that Regulus keeps quiet about his friendship with Severus Snape, or else that Snape is just Dark enough to have wormed his way in to Walburga and Orion’s good graces.

Suddenly, Snape looks up and locks eyes with James. He doesn’t seem surprised to find himself being scrutinised. After a second he lazily raises his hand to give James the finger, and then continues in his conversation with Regulus. 

James wants to retaliate but Lily is still sat nearby, and hexing Snape won’t do him any favours in that department. He finishes the rest of his breakfast, claps Sirius on the shoulder, catches Adric’s eye, who nods, and as one the Gryffindor team rise from the table. There’s a series of boos from the Slytherin table, but by now this is almost soothing pre-game noise to James.

Mary stands on tiptoes to throw her arms around Richie and kiss him full on the mouth. Sirius demands why no one wants to kiss him, and although Peter offers, laughing, it’s Remus that Sirius looks at for a moment just too long, Remus who stares down at his plate with a blush rising on his face. James doesn’t have time to dwell on this, as Lily is rolling her eyes at Mary and Richie’s display, and she catches James’ eye with a look of despairing solidarity, and James tries to banish the thought of her leaning up to kiss him.

To take his mind of it all, he aims a quiet Shoelace-Tying Jinx at Snape on the way past the Slytherin table, and feels instantly better.

::

In the changing rooms, Adric appears to have finally exhausted all words of advice and motivation, and the Gryffindor team pull on their scarlet robes in a heavy, blanketed silence. James wants to say something encouraging, but then he sees the determined set of Alfie’s mouth, and Sirius looks across and throws him a wink, and James feels the tension in his shoulders lessen. 

When they make their way on to the pitch, James is relieved by the layer of cloud cover above them. Alfie should be able to find the Snitch quickly in these conditions. James scans the crowd as Adric and Benjy Fenwick shake hands; he catches sight of a large banner bearing a drawing of a lion and Peter’s handwriting: GRYFFINDOR FOR THE CUP. James grins, and when he kicks off from the ground at the blast of the whistle, the sounds of boos from the Slytherin stands slip away against the roaring of the wind in his ears.

Before he’s even gained his balance properly, Richie has thrown the Quaffle at him. James, seeing Boot closing in, drops it down to Rachel, who streaks off towards the Ravenclaw goal hoops. 

The Ravenclaw team are on form this match, all their training evidently having paid off. Fenwick, Boot and Cresswell aren’t giving the Gryffindor Chasers much room to manoeuvre, and after Rachel has scored the first goal, they tighten it up even more. James doesn’t get to hold the Quaffle for longer than a few seconds before he’s forced to throw it to Rachel or Richie, or has to swerve to avoid either a Ravenclaw Chaser or a Bludger. 

“Get him, Sirius!” James yells in exasperation, as yet another Bludger from Owain Pugh spins his way. He drops the Quaffle, which is seized by a smirking Fenwick.

Sirius shouts, “On it!” as he swings his bat at the other Bludger, hurtling it towards the Ravenclaw Captain. 

Fenwick’s smirk doesn’t last long; the Bludger from Sirius means that he doesn’t even make it to the Gryffindor goal. The Quaffle is instead grabbed by Richie, who manages to score Gryffindor’s second goal and give the team a bit of breathing room. Ravenclaw’s defence may be playing well, James thinks, but if Gryffindor can at least stop them from scoring, and if Alfie finds the Snitch soon - the Cup will be theirs.

He glances at Adric over by the goal hoops. He’s flying zig-zaggedly across all the hoops, his posture tense, trying to guard every goal at once. His eyes never leave the Quaffle. 

_Poor bloke. Maybe being Captain isn’t worth the stress._

Ravenclaw’s Seeker this year is Amber McCroy. She’s currently circling above the rest of the players, and James notices that Alfie isn’t far behind her, tailing her every move. Amber puts on a burst of speed, trying to shake Alfie off, but he’s not deterred in the slightest. James gives him an encouraging wink as he flies by. If anything, at least this method should annoy Amber to the point of distracting her from the Snitch.

The tension in the game doesn’t relent any. For every goal that Ravenclaw score, Gryffindor manage to score two, but their lead is still only by a hundred and twenty points at around half an hour into the match. Adric is blue in the face from shouting instructions down the pitch, and Sirius and Meredith are hammering Bludgers at anything not in scarlet robes. The Quaffle is just a red blur on the pitch from how furiously it’s being passed around, and there’s still not been any sign of the Snitch. James doesn’t need Caradoc Dearborn’s commentary to know that with the scores this tight, every goal is precious. 

The sudden intake of breath from the crowd makes him turn around for a split second. Alfie is zooming towards the ground, and James feels his heart sink. _No, Alfie, not yet, not yet, we need another hundred points._ Gritting his teeth, James takes advantage of the Ravenclaw teams distraction; he seizes the Quaffle and sails it easily past Midgen, the Keeper. James retrieves the Quaffle quickly, chucking it to Rachel, who scores again.

James cranes his neck in time to see Alfie pulling out of his dive, a look of utter concentration on his face, and James realises. He hadn’t seem the Snitch, but Amber certainly thought he had - she nearly crashes into the ground and has to veer up at the last minute, disorientated. 

“Keep going!” James shouts, throwing Richie the Quaffle. 

Fenwick and Cresswell aren’t quick enough to intercept, and Gryffindor score their third goal in as many minutes. James laughs as he sees Fenwick shouting at Midgen, and Midgen responds with a few choice words of his own.

“And the Ravenclaw Captain and Keeper seem to be having a bit of a disagreement, folks,” Caradoc Dearborn says into the microphone. “But at least it’s providing Gryffindor with the opportunity to take a sizeable lead - Potter shoots again - and scores!”

_60 points to go._ James keeps up the score in his head as he blocks Boot’s way to the goals, forcing him to drop lower. Amber spurts forward on her broom, expression determined, but Sirius whizzes a Bludger directly into her path and she changes direction so fast she nearly crashes into Cresswell. Ravenclaw are losing their confidence, and getting more and more annoyed with the Gryffindor team. At one point, James does a spectacular reach for the Quaffle mid-air between Fenwick and Cresswell, both hands leaving his broom, a move that makes the Gryffindor supporters stamp their feet in appreciation but makes Fenwick call James something he’s certain would make Lily blush.

“Not as gentlemanly now, is he?” Sirius cackles, as Richie scores again.

Finally, it’s time. They’re 230 points in the lead. Adric is flying so erratically around the goals, turning so fast, James fears he might give himself whiplash. He doesn’t know if Ravenclaw have worked out that Gryffindor are now in a position to win, but judging from the way Fenwick starts bellowing instuctions at his Beaters to “hit them, just hit them!” he thinks they _may_ have twigged on.

James has to grab his Nimbus for support when Alfie suddenly streaks past him. Amber is at the other end of the pitch, but she’s fast, and once she realises that this isn’t a feint, that Alfie’s seen the real thing, she practically flattens herself against her broom in order to gain more speed. The Quaffle is still moving, Richie and Meredith working seamlessly to score another goal, but James knows this is it - if Alfie gets the Snitch -

“AND GRYFFINDOR HAVE DONE IT! ALFIE MCKINNON HAS CAUGHT THE SNITCH AND GRYFFINDOR WIN THE CUP!”

James lets that last sentence ring through his brain for one glorious, unspoilt moment, before the rest of Dearborn’s commentary is drowned out by the cheers from the Gryffindor stands. Before he knows what’s what, James is pulled into a hug with Rachel and Richie, and then Sirius slams into the three of them, banging James on the back and nearly making them all fall off their brooms. They make it down to the ground, and Alfie runs towards them, his broom discarded, waving his fist that still has the Snitch in it in the air excitedly.

“C’mere, you,” Rachel laughs, kissing his cheek. Meredith follows suit, leaving Alfie extremely pink in the face, and then Adric barrels in, grabbing Alfie in a bear hug that looks set to rip his head from his neck, and kissing him soundly on the forehead.

The team make their way to the stands where a smiling Dumbledore is stood with the Quidditch Cup. Beside him, Professor McGonagall looks suspiciously misty-eyed; she’s taken off her glasses and is dabbing underneath her eyes with a tartan handkerchief. Dumbledore passes the Cup to Adric, who gapes at it wordlessly, looking at it with such wonderment as it it’s his first born child. Except, he probably wouldn’t hoist his first born child so ferociously into the air and then start waving it around, James reckons.

The Gryffindor supporters flood down. Remus, Peter and Marlene are at the front. Marlene grabs Alfie in a hug; Sirius jumps on top of Peter and Remus, and James yet again gets yanked into another many-armed embrace. Untangling himself, his glasses hanging from one ear, James spots Mary and Richie kissing passionately beside him, and then - he hastily pushes his glasses back on his nose correctly - then, Lily is there, grinning just as much as any of them.

“Well done,” she says.

“Thanks,” James says, and then does something he’s been wanting to do for a very long time: he hugs Lily Evans. Her hair is very soft, and she smells good, and not just in a perfumed way. Lily Evans just smells really really good, he thinks, slightly giddy with winning the Cup and being this close to Lily. And then, before Peter can clap him on the back again, before Adric sobs into his shoulder, or before Sirius starts shouting about the party in the common room, James pulls back slightly so that he’s facing her, and leans in to kiss Lily.

Lily whips her head back. “James. Woah. I didn’t mean - we’re friends, right?”

James’ shoulders stiffen. He drops his hands from Lily’s waist as if burnt, and coughs into his hand. “Right,” he says gruffly. “Yeah. Whatever.”

“I’m sorry,” Evans says, looking pained. 

James shrugs. He turns his back on her abruptly, and rejoins his friends and teammates. “So,” he shouts over the noise. “There’s going to be a party, am I right?”

They all erupt into cheers again, and James allows himself, and the rest of the team, to be hoisted up on to the Gryffindor’s shoulders and be carried back to the castle, the sun glinting off of the Quidditch Cup all the way there.


	47. a potter homecoming.

_Late June 1975._

_Our darling James_

_Congratulations on winning the House Cup! Your father and I are so proud. The Quidditch Cup as well - really, well done son. We are sorry we couldn’t make it down to watch, but your father had a bout of a sudden illness that he just couldn’t shake for a couple of days. Nothing to worry about - he’s fine now, I assure you. Your old folks just aren’t as robust as we once were!_

_Your letter was very much appreciated, though. I read it aloud to your dad when he was resting, and it did make him smile! A well deserved win, by the sounds of it, but I do wish you’d be careful on that broomstick of yours. Surely it would be safer to keep both hands on the handle at the same time? I suppose I never played Quidditch so I don’t really know these things, but honestly, dear, all this diving about - I know, I know, I’m nagging. There, I’ve stopped. You can stop rolling your eyes at the parchment and mimicking your poor old mother’s voice now._

_We are both very much looking forward to seeing you tomorrow. The house is so quiet without you, and the boys of course! Are they coming to stay over the summer? I must admit I do miss you all marauding about the place._

_How is Sirius? I do hope he can come and stay, at least. I don’t like the thought of him in that house in London for all those weeks. I’ve sent some food parcels for all four of you for the train journey. Call me old fashioned, but a ton of pumpkin pasties and some Chocolate Frogs does not constitute a well rounded meal._

_Give Sirius, Remus, and Peter our love. I do hope we’ll be seeing them shortly!_

_We’ll see you tomorrow at King’s Cross._

_All our love,_

_Mum and Dad._

::

Settling in to the window seat on the train, James reads through the letter from his mum once more. _Marauding about the place._ Marauders - he likes the sound of that. Grinning, he folds the letter up and slips it into his pocket, and from his bag fishes out the food parcels his mum had sent him and his mates. Peter excitedly tears into his - he’d admitted to James once, in a hushed whisper as though Mrs Pettigrew could hear him, that Althea’s cooking was better than his own mother’s - and Remus takes his with a small, polite smile that James knows is concealing his inner conflict at taking charity from anyone. Sirius reaches easily for his, and whistles appreciatively.

“She’s a diamond, your mum,” he says.

There’s general nodding and murmuring of agreement as the boys tuck in. James likes this, the feeling of looking after them all. Or rather, his mum did, but still. He could have been a greedy bastard and eaten the whole lot himself, so he thinks he deserves points for sharing it all out. 

“So, are you all coming to Chez Potter this summer?” he asks, rolling up the sleeves on his robes and leaning back against his seat. 

The sun is streaming in through the windows, and it’ll only get hotter the further south they travel. Pretty soon James will change into his Muggle clothes - shorts and t-shirts are so much more practical, especially in the summer months, he thinks. He feels a bit sorry for Sirius, who he knows will have to stay in his black school robes all the way to King’s Cross, and then when he gets home will probably have to change into something just as stifling. Mrs Pettigrew most likely views Muggle clothing with quiet suspicion, but James doubts that Peter’s clothes are as stuffy as the ones Sirius owns. And as for Remus, well - Mr and and Mrs Lupin would probably let him wear a leotard and tutu if it made him smile.

“Yeah, I reckon so,” Peter says. “I mean, I’m not going to be seeing my dad at all, right? May as well hang out somewhere I’m wanted.”

“Well, you’re always welcome, mate, you know that. Stay as long as you like,” James says. He looks at the other two. “Moony? Sirius?”

Remus seems to shrink in on himself, as he does every time the topic of holidays and visiting people comes around. 

“I don’t know -”

“Your parents were totally cool with you hanging out with us all last summer!” Peter points out.

“Yeah, where they were nearby and could keep an eye on me. Going away to Tenby for a couple of days isn’t the same as disappearing off to Maidstone,” Remus says quietly. “I’ll ask, okay, James? I’m sure they’ll let me come for a few days at least.”

Sirius snorts. “Just you see if mine could stop me,” he says.

He probably sounds a lot more confident than he feels, but none of the other boys mention anything about this. If James had it his way, he’d take Sirius in straight away, straight from King’s Cross, and he knows his parents feel the same. 

“Maybe you can visit your cousin and uncle again,” Peter says hopefully.

“Yeah,” Sirius says, looking out of the window at the rugged Scottish landscape whizzing by. “It would be nice. Nymphadora is getting to be a right handful, by the sounds of it. Turns herself into random children at the park and drives Andromeda and Ted mad. Ted said he nearly took the wrong kid home the other day, and had some mother start beating him with her umbrella.”

“We should all look after her,” James says. “That’d be a laugh, right? The four of us and a little kid?”

“That sounds horrific,” Remus says, shaking his head.

“Spoilsport.”

Of course, Remus’ complete and utter refusal to do any such thing, only encourages Sirius. James can tell by the expression on his face that Sirius had already planned Idea Number One on the Summer of 1975 itinerary, and it involves one Metamorphmagus child and one despairing Remus Lupin. James catches his eye and grins to let Sirius know that he thinks it’s a bloody brilliant idea, and Sirius smirks right back. Settled.

“I don’t like it when you two look at each other like that,” Remus mutters. “It normally means you’re plotting something.”

“Moony, my love,” Sirius croons. “Don’t be jealous just because I look at other people.”

“Sod off,” Remus says, and disappears behind a book, his ears noticeably pink.

James stares at him for some time. Or rather, he stares at the book that Remus is reading. No, that’s not right either - he stares at the book that Remus is pretending to read, because Sirius said something mildly flirty and Remus gets embarrased about those sorts of things. 

It’s funny, James thinks, because Sirius is just That Person, and they’re all used to it by now. He’s the boy that will crawl into your bed at 2am because he’s cold and you’re warm; he’s the boy that won’t think twice about sitting on your lap if all the seats are taken, or about licking your neck during a drunken game of dares, or about shoving his hand down your trousers to put something unpleasant down there, or singing filthy limericks in your ear. 

Remus is not That Person. Remus likes personal space, and he’s sparing with his confidences and his trust and his affection. Nudity, for Remus, is something James imagines him only doing in the shower, whereas he fully expects that Sirius is the sort of person who will cook completely starkers when he has his own place. Remus normally, however, is very much capable of holding his own. He knows more dirty jokes than Sirius and James put together, who both grew up in quite repressed houses for very different reasons and who were shocked the first time that Remus swore in First Year, a word that James hadn’t even ever heard of, but Remus is quite fond of whenever he stubs his toe.

So, it’s not as if Remus is shy. And usually not at all around his mates. Yet - and yet - over the last year, James has noticed it, whenever Sirius bats his eyelashes in his direction, or makes a flirty comment, Remus gets very flustered and distracted and usually does just this: hides behind a book, hoping no one will notice. But James has noticed, and he’s not quite sure how to ask one of his mates if he fancies his other mate. James mulls that phrase over in his head. It doesn’t seem as weird as he thinks it probably should. It makes a sort of sense - Sirius is bright, and dazzling, and James would probably have a bit of a crush on him too if he wasn’t so preoccupied with Lily sodding Evans. 

“You all right?” Peter asks suddenly, and James realises he’s being watched. “You’re making a really funny face. Are you thinking?”

“Er - just about Evans,” James says, because it’s not a complete lie.

“Oh, bollocks to her,” Sirius says. 

“I thought you were a member of the Lily Evans fan club,” Remus says, lowering his book now that the attention is on someone else, his complexion restored to ‘sickly’ - the full moon hadn’t been long ago. 

“I was before she threw poor Potter’s heart away as if it was yesterday’s _Prophet!_ ”

“That’s a bit dramatic,” James mutters.

“Tch,” Sirius says, the universal sound for distaste. “All right, so she’s not all bad. But still - saying no to that cute little face? Who could?”

“She said she wanted to be friends, right?” Remus says reasonably. “Hope is not lost, then. Sometimes, friendship is the best we can hope for.”

James stares at him, wondering if he feels about Sirius how he feels about Lily. For a moment James wants to grab him, ask him how he manages to live with it, but then he composes himself. 

“It’s fine. It’s - nothing. Being her friend is hard, anyway. I have to leave Snape alone and really, with a nose like that, he’s just a walking target.”

“Well said.” Sirius claps. “No, I’ve nothing against Evans, really, but you can do better, mate. Speaking of Snivelly, shall we go find him later? Say our goodbyes?”

Remus sighs. “I really don’t think -”

“Have you checked on the potion?” Peter says suddenly, interrupting before a row can start. 

James looks at him fondly. Good old Peter. He pats his inside pocket. “It’s here, don’t worry. All safe. I’m not letting it out of my sight.”

They’d finally bottled the Animagus potion two days ago, under the full moon. It now sat, split into three vials, that James will keep safe at his house for the summer. He didn’t fancy leaving it at Hogwarts over the holidays, in case one of the teachers or Peeves stumbled across it. James has given Peter and Sirius firm instructions to practice the incantation needed to get the animal brain, and he’s sure that six weeks is enough time to crack it for them. He’s quite glad really, that Peter will be with him for the majority of the holidays, as Pete struggles quite a bit with Transfiguration, and at least this way James will be able to help.

“If we’re all together at yours, I think we should try it then,” Sirius suggests.

James pulls a face. “And explain to my mum why one of us is stuck with a tail? No thanks. Let’s wait until we’re back at Hogwarts. We’ve waited years - another few weeks won’t make much difference.”

“It’s not like you’ll be around me for my transformations over the summer anyway, even if you did crack it before,” Remus says.

Sirius looks at him, eyes bright. “We’ll be with you for the majority of the ones after though, Moony. If we can help it.”

“Can we talk about something else?” Remus says quietly.

Peter produces a chess set and shakes it. Remus smiles faintly, nods, and the board and pieces are quickly assembled. James settles in to watch the game, a very interesting one that Remus very nearly wins with a daring knight, but Peter check-mates him in the end.

The train is rumbling through the East of England when Frank Longbottom pays them a visit in their compartment. He’s still in his school robes, his Head Boy badge pinned to his front. 

“All right, Frank?” Sirius greets him, taking his legs off of the seat in front that he’s sprawled across. “Here, sit down -”

“No, you’re fine,” Frank says, shaking his head. “I’m just popping by. Wanted to say my goodbyes, that’s all. You know it’s always madness at the station.”

It strikes James then that when he returns to Hogwarts in September, Frank won’t be there. Nor will Alice. It will be strange, being in the common room and not seeing the couple wrapped up in each other; or not having their gentle reprimands whenever they get a bit too rowdy; not having Alice to help them out with their Herbology homework. They’ve always been there, both of them a sort of model of the Good Student, firm and fair and yet never too strict with their punishments as Prefects and later, as Head Boy for Frank. Obviously James has known that Frank and Alice would graduate, but it hits home now - he’ll miss them.

He’s not seen much of Frank or Alice over recent weeks, now that he comes to think of it. They’ve been absent from the common room quite a bit, and the last time James saw them, he’d been passing by the entrance to Dumbledore’s staircase and had seen Frank, Alice, and fellow Seventh Year’s Hestia Jones, Winifred Quirke, and Caradoc Dearborn all stood in a close huddle together, talking in whispers. They’d shut up when they saw James, and James had thought he’d done something wrong, and so he’s glad now that Frank has sought them out to say goodbye.

“You’re joining the Aurors still, yeah?” Peter asks, looking admiringly up at the older boy.

Frank’s nod is solemn. “Hopefully. Alice and I have both applied; we’re just waiting on our N.E.W.T results. Fingers crossed we get top marks and we can join the Academy as soon as. So, lads, as much as I’d love to say I’ll keep in touch - I reckon I’m going to be a fair bit busy from the moment I get that owl with my results in.”

“Who knows,” James says suddenly, before he’s even aware that it’s a thought he’s ever considered before, “maybe one day we’ll be colleagues!”

Frank’s eyebrows go up, but he smiles. “I wouldn’t be at all surprised if we end up working alongside each other in the future, James.”

They all shake Frank’s hand, and wish him well, James still thinking idly of what it would be like to be an Auror. He’ll have to get Frank’s address, and owl him to ask for details. The training is vigorous, his father has told him that much, but James knows it’s a job worth doing, especially with the way things are going in the world at the moment. Probably more worthwhile than being a professional Quidditch player. Maybe he could do both, he muses. Quidditch player by day, Dark wizard catcher by night -

“Frank, oh thank goodness, there you are!”

Hestia Jones is in the doorway of the compartment, her black hair mussed and her cheeks red.

“What’s wrong?” Frank asks, moving towards her and taking hold of her arm.

“There’s a group of boys towards the front of the train - they’ve Transfigured a bunch of students ties into snakes - Alice and Winifred are there, but -”

“Idiots,” Frank growls. “And we’re nearly in London, too -” 

He breaks off, his expression thunderous, and gestures at Hestia to lead the way. 

“I guess being Head Boy doesn’t stop even when school does,” Peter says, looking at the place that Frank had just been with an awestruck look on his face.

“Should we go help?” Remus asks.

Sirius shakes his head. “Leave it. Probably just a bunch of Slytherins thinking it’s a real funny end of year prank to try to strangle a few students before the train journey is over.”

“Frank and the rest of them will sort it,” Peter says confidently. 

“Yeah, and I don’t fancy getting in to a fight with my brother just yet,” Sirius mutters.

“As much as you saying that sentence is personal growth, mate, you don’t know your brother is one of -”

Sirius cuts across James with a scoff. “Please. He’d probably think it’s hysterical.”

No one argues with this and silence falls over the compartment. Outside the fields and farmland have turned to the grey buildings and busy streets that mean they’re approaching King’s Cross. 

The four boys stand in the middle of the bustle of students and parents, an array of people in both wizarding and Muggle attire, a confusion of noise - parents calling to their children, children shouting their goodbyes to their friends, owls screeching, cats yowling, the clack of the luggage trolley wheels along the platform, and above all, the hissing and clanking of the Hogwarts Express finally coming to rest.

James spots Mr and Mrs Lupin first. Lyall in a faded green button-down cardigan and corduroy trousers, one hand on the small of his wife’s back, steering Hope towards the foursome. Her smile, James notices, is exactly the same as Remus’, almost unsure and a bit lopsided, but her eyes are sparkling as she reaches for her son and pulls him into a hug.

“Hi, Mum,” Remus says. 

He’s gotten a lot taller than his mother now, so he ends up speaking into her shoulder, his voice muffled in the fabric of her patterned dress. Hope holds him out at arms length, her keen brown eyes taking in his pale complexion, checking him over. The worry about the previous full moon and his transformation being so recent is evident, and James waves Sirius and Peter away to give the Lupins some privacy.

“We’ll make sure we say goodbye,” James says to Sirius, who is craning his neck to look back at Remus and his parents.

Sirius shoves his hands into the pockets of his robes and grunts an incoherent reply. When he looks up, out across the sea of people, his grey eyes go steely. James follows his gaze and sees Regulus walking swiftly towards them, and, trotting in front of him, a wizened and wrinkled looking house-elf.

“Sirius,” Regulus says formally, when the odd-looking pair come to a halt in front of them. He doesn’t spare a glance for either Peter or James, although Kreacher - for even though James has never met him, this must surely be the ancient and slightly senile elf from his best friend’s stories - is shooting disgusted looks at the pair of them.

“Reg. And Kreacher, hello!” Sirius raises his voice suddenly, stooping so that he’s right by the elf’s large ears. The shout makes Kreacher jump and clutch one gnarled, almost claw-like hand over his heart. Peter laughs, but James and Regulus don’t. “What?” Sirius says defensively, straightening up. “He’s old. Got to make sure he can hear me, right? Anyway. Where are dear old Ma and Pa?”

“Mistress instructed Kreacher to collect Masters Regulus and Sirius from King’s Cross himself,” Kreacher says. 

“I don’t need collecting,” Sirius says. 

Kreacher is attracting a lot of curious looks from the other students going by, and James imagines how he’d feel if he had a house-elf come for him in such a public place. It’s not exactly the coolest welcoming committee. 

“Mother disagrees,” Regulus says wryly. By comparison, he seems completely unfazed by his house-elf being there. “Perhaps she had some notion that you might not come home at all if left unattended. Imagine that. But, anyway, as sure as you to run away to your friend’s this summer, there’s no immediate need - your friends are all invited to ours.”

“Pardon?” James says, when in the silence that follows this all Sirius and Peter do is blink confusedly.

“Kreacher, you tell them,” Regulus prompts.

“Master Regulus tells no lies,” Kreacher says. “Mistress Walburga has extended a gracious invitation for a Mr James Potter, a Mr Peter Pettigrew and a Mr Remus Lupin to attend their house, number 12 Grimmauld Place, this coming Saturday.” Then, in a completely different voice, “Kreacher has heard of the Potters, but not the Lupins or Pettigrews, and he wonders if they are half-bloods or worse - Mistress Walburga must not let them touch the family silver, probably all dirty thieves -”

Regulus clears his throat, cutting the elf off mid-rant. He smiles. “So there’s that. No need to run off the Maidstone quite as soon as you’ve landed!”

Sirius is frowning. “I don’t get it. She’s never invited my friends over. What’s she playing at?”

“Oh, Sirius, you’re so suspicious. Maybe she just wants to get to know the people you associate with. I thought you’d be pleased.”

Sirius does not look pleased. James has spotted his own parents weaving their way through the crowd to get to him, and his sense of confusion and dread at the invitation to the Black’s lifts as he waves at his mum and dad.

“We can owl you the details,” Regulus says, and it takes James a moment to realise that Regulus speaking to him and Peter. “But next Saturday. Come on, Sirius, I’m getting bored stood here -”

“I’ll mirror you tonight,” James says lowly to Sirius. “I won’t come if you don’t want -”

“Wait,” Sirius says, his voice oddly blank. He shakes his arm free of Kreacher’s hand. “I haven’t said goodbye to Remus. Get off, Kreacher, I haven’t even said hello to Mr and Mrs Potter -”

“You’ll be seeing your friends soon,” Regulus says impatiently. “Kreacher, just grab him and let’s go home, please.”

It’s obvious which Black brother Kreacher responds to the most. Before Jasper and Althea can reach them, there’s a crack and suddenly, Kreacher, Regulus, and Sirius are all gone. The noise is loud enough to attract the attention of most people nearby, and James sees Remus looking around, the smile dropping from his face when he sees that Sirius is no longer with them.

“Hello, boys,” Jasper says. “What in Merlin’s name was that about?”

“Is Sirius all right?” Althea asks.

James hugs each of his parents in turn. It’s Peter that answers their questions.

“Sirius’ house-elf came to get him. We’ve been invited to his house next Saturday.”

Althea and Jasper both turn to look at their son questioningly. James shrugs. 

“Well, we can talk about all that later on,” Althea says slowly. “Anyway - Peter, dear, so good to see you!”

“You too, Mrs Potter!” Peter grins at her. “And thank you for the food for the train journey! It was really - oh, there’s my mum. MUM!”

Althea winces slightly at the volume of his voice as Peter waves his whole arm in windmilling motions to get his mother’s attention.

“Who’s that bloke with her?” James asks Peter, because Mrs Pettigrew is not alone. 

In fact, she’s not even noticed her son, because she’s busy standing on tiptoes to whisper into the ear of a thickset man in deep purple robes. Peter shakes his head, looking put-out that his mother hasn’t seen him.

“No idea. I better go see what that’s about. I guess I’ll see you soon, James. Imagine us at the Black’s house. Ha!”

“Yeah, I better go tell Remus. He’ll have a fit…”

Peter claps James on the shoulder, waves cheerily at Jasper and Althea, and shouts a goodbye to Remus before trundling off to see his mum and the mystery stranger. 

Remus’ reaction to being told that they have an invitation to Grimmauld Place is exactly as James expected. His eyebrows shoot up, one side of his mouth quirks down. James knows this look well enough to know that Remus is thinking, _Well, shit_.

“I’m right there with you,” James mutters. 

Both of their parents are nearby. James’ mum is talking animatedly to Mrs Lupin, and James thinks that she’s probably attempting to butter Hope up into letting Remus come and stay at their house for a week or so. 

“Well, we have to go,” Remus says, surprising James. “I mean. How would it look if we didn’t turn up? It would be like saying, _Hey, Mr and Mrs Black, we don’t actually care about your son_ \- No, whatever game they’re playing, let’s play it. We need to be there for Sirius, right? You think Pete would be up for it?”

“Pete would be up for anything if I told him to be,” James says thoughtlessly.

Remus shoots him a Look, but it’s a true enough statement and both of them know it. 

“Your parents will let you?” James asks.

Remus shrugs one shoulder. “I think your mum is charming them enough for me to get away with saying I’ll be at yours. I’ll leave aside the bit about me going for dinner with a family that despises everything from my name to my blood to my furry little problem. We’ll go to Grimmauld Place and then stay over at yours after to recover - if that’s all right?”

“Of course it is,” James says, relieved that Remus has gone into planning mode and sorted everything out for him. Out of the corner of his eye he sees his mum cheek kissing Hope and Lyall, and he pulls Remus into a hug. “So - next Saturday then! Brace yourself.”

Remus’ smile is a flicker of grim determination. “I always feel braced these days. See you soon, James.”

The Lupins make their way to the barrier, and Jasper grasps James by the arm; they’ll be Apparating home. Through the throng of people leaving Platform 9 and 3/4, James’ attention is seized by a glimpse of red hair. Lily is arm in arm with a woman who must be Mrs Evans. Lily is talking animatedly, her mother smiling indulgently, and James watches them for as long as he can before his stomach twists, the station dissolves around him, and he’s suddenly staggering to stay upright in the Potter kitchen.

The smell of home hits him instantly. There’s a kettle on the stove, chiming merrily to let everyone know that the water is boiled, and a large cauldron simmering away on top of the kitchen table. It smells strongly of cloves, but before James can ask his father what it is he’s brewing up this time, James feels a gentle nudge on his kneecaps and looks down to see a house-elf wearing a towel-smock peering keenly up at him.

“Ah, yes,” Jasper says briskly, as James blinks down at the elf. “James, this is Gigi. Gigi, this is James, our son.”

The elf bows low, large ears falling forwards over its head and practically grazing the kitchen floor. It’s a female, James guesses from the smock, and it - she - has bright blue eyes and a small, pointed nose. Her skin is a bit leathery looking, suggesting age, and when she looks up at James again she smiles hugely, showing a gap in between her front two teeth.

“A pleasure to meet you, Master James! Gigi lives to serve House Potter.”

James glances uncertainly at his parents, who are both smiling as though this is completely normal, and then he lowers his voice to ask, “Er - why do we have a house-elf?”

He’s not sure why he’s whispering, except that he doesn’t want to hurt the old elf’s feelings - he knows from the Hogwarts kind that they can be a bit overdramatic if they feel that their work is being slighted or their ability called into question. There’s also an unpleasant prickling sensation about the whole thing. House-elves are usually associated with old money, old lineages, and older views. The Potter name may be a respected one, but Jasper and Althea have always done their own thing, eschewing the majority of Pureblood convention, something that James has always been fiercely proud of. The Potter home is large, yes, and true enough James has never wanted for anything in his life, but they’ve always managed to get along perfectly fine by themselves. And yet here they are now, with a servant. 

“We’re not as young as we once were, James,” Althea says, echoing her letters. Another unpleasant feeling trickles over James like someone has slid something slimy over his shoulders. “Gigi has been a wonderful addition to the family these last few months. When your father was taken ill -”

“Months?” James repeats. “You never said anything!”

“Well, darling, you can get quite - impassioned,” his mother says, raising one eyebrow at his tone. James looks down at his shoelaces. 

“We thought it best you meet Gigi first before making a snap judgement,” Jasper says.

“You said that you were feeling better,” James mumbles to his father, feeling waylaid and out of sorts.

“And I am!” Jasper says quickly. “But the fact remains, son, that I’m an old man and this is a large house with a lot to do. Gigi helps. She’s been excellent.”

The elf looks set to burst into tears, but whether from the compliment or James’ clear reluctance James isn’t sure. Althea touches her on the shoulder and whispers an instruction, and the elf scurries from the room with another bow.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Althea says, looking directly at James. “And not every family treats their elves like the Blacks do. She loves it here, really she does, and she’s such a sweet old thing.”

Jasper laughs. “She makes an excellent cup of tea, that’s for sure.”

“And I’ve never seen the silverware so clean!”

Both of his parents are looking at him imploringly. He shrugs finally, a muted acceptance, because what else can he do? He doesn’t doubt for one minute that his parents will treat Gigi with respect and kindness. It’s more the fact that they hadn’t told him sooner, that they’ve clearly been struggling. 

His parents have always seemed far younger than they actually are; his dad always in a frenzy to whip up some new exciting potion, his mum always laughing at him, mirth and energy stripping the years from both of them. But looking at them now, James thinks he sees the passage of times creeping in at the edges. His dad is leaning one hand on the back of a chair - to hold himself up? For the extra support? His mother’s wrinkles, once seen as laughter lines, now mark her for what she is - a lady very much in her later years. 

James snaps out of that train of thought, blinking rapidly. “Right. Well, a bit of extra help can’t go amiss. And I’m here now. I can help too. I don’t need to go to Sirius’, I can stay and -”

“You hush right now,” Althea says sharply. “You’ll not waste your summer away helping two oldies! That’s why we took on Gigi. Sirius needs you. You’ll go to Grimmauld Place on Saturday and you’ll do your best to bring that boy back here for the rest of the summer, do I make myself clear?”

“Yes,” James says, smiling despite himself.

Whatever her age, Althea Potter does not stand for any nonsense. 

She leans in to kiss James on the forehead, trying unsuccessfully to smooth down his hair at the same time. 

“Now, off to bed you go. It’s been a long day.”

James bids his parents goodnight, and begins to trundle his suitcase towards the stairs, but his father calling to him makes him stop.

“Just leave that there, son, we’ll have Gigi deal with it. Don’t look like that - if you give her work to do, she’ll think you accept her. It’s your way of making amends.”

“Shall I throw some dirty socks and underwear about my room as well?” 

“There’d be no difference there, then,” his mother says dryly, and then smiles. “Yes, that would be a wonderful idea.”

James takes only the mirror with him up the stairs to his bedroom. He’s intent on talking to Sirius, to confirm that of course he’ll be there for him on Saturday, that they all will. 

As he passes the cupboard where his dad stores his old brooms and cauldrons that he’s yet to sort through and throw away, James sees the door is ajar slightly and someone has made a comfortable little nest in there. He can hear someone breathing, small hiccupy breaths. He thinks fleetingly of Kreacher at the station earlier that day, and how he’d looked at Sirius with such blatant disdain. 

James stops outside the cupboard and clears his throat. “Uh - Gigi? Just to let you know…my suitcase is downstairs and it’s full of dirty clothes that need washing. If you could, uh, sort that out for me. Please. That’d be great. They’re - really dirty. In need of a good clean. Thanks.”

He reaches his bedroom door, but before he can push it open Gigi has flung herself out of the cupboard behind him. He can hear her scampering down the stairs, chattering excitedly to herself about work to be done. 

James shakes his head as he pushes the door open, pulling the mirror from his back pocket before he’s even fully in the room. He and Sirius have a lot to talk about, and they’ve only been away from each other for a couple of hours. 

James feels it’s not going to be a dull summer, by any means.


	48. a new friendship and a temporary truce.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter's worldview is about to be expanded, and Sirius prepares for his friends to visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally part of a longer chapter, but I ended up breaking it up a bit in order to get an update out. I really can't promise this will be updated with any sort of regularity, at least not at the moment, but rest assured that I have definitely not abandoned this fic!

_July 1975._

For about twenty minutes after having woken up, Peter lies in his bed, staring up at the ceiling and listening to the sounds coming from downstairs. 

He’s lived here his whole life. He knows everything here just as well as he knows his reflection. There’s a crack near the left hand corner of his bedroom ceiling, three lines like an upside down Y. The light streaming in through his blinds makes the same splattering of light on the far side of the wall at this time every day. His mother sings to herself, loud and off-key, every morning as she tunes into the WWN. 

These are the sensations of home. Familiar and unchanging. After his father left, Peter sought comfort in the mundane, static pace of the household that Richard Pettigrew left behind. 

There would always be that chip in the hallway mirror. There would always be the creak to the front gate that needs oiling. There would always be his mother’s perfumes lined up neatly in the bathroom cabinet. The front room always smells faintly of cat because the next door’s tabby always lets itself in through the open windows and makes itself at home on the ottoman. 

(Peter hates cats, but the fact that he can usually expect to see Milo sat in his living room and staring at him coolly as if he’s the intruder is a constant that he’s gotten used to.)

Today, however, there are different sounds to be heard in the house. His mother is singing, yes, but every so often it’s drowned out by a male voice laughing. Peter knows that when he eventually gets up and goes into the bathroom, when he opens the cabinet door for some toothpaste, he’ll see male cologne and aftershave beside his mother’s perfumes. Smartly polished black shoes in the shoe rack by the door. Probably a few suits or male dress robes in his mother’s wardrobe, if Peter dared go investigate.

Both the offending items and the laugh belong to Harrington Mawsley. 

Harrington Mawsley is Peter’s mother’s - Peter’s mind stalls over the word; he fidgets uncomfortably under his bedcovers - her _boyfriend_. He’d choked on the word back at King’s Cross a few days before, when his mother had turned up hand in hand with this newcomer, and Philomena had laughed. Laughed!

“Oh, Peter, I think we’re a bit old for that! Harrington is my dear, dear friend,” his mother had said, and Harrington had run his fingers over his wispy looking moustache, a nervous habit, and Peter had wanted to be sick.

For now, the gate still creaks and the mirror is still chipped, although Peter suspects that Harrington will soon fix it. He’s in the business of fixing things up, he’d told Peter that night over dinner, as Peter had stared at his boiled potatoes and cabbage and wondered how long this man had been dining at his table under his roof with his mother. 

“I’m in antiques, really,” Harrington said, although Peter wasn’t even pretending to be interested, he was in so much shock. His mum had a boyfriend. “I’m working for now in Kwizik Alley, in a little shop you’ve probably not heard of, although recently we did sell on a piece to Mr Borgin in Knockturn! We find the pieces, restore them, and sell them on.”

Everything in Peter’s world has changed. He focuses on the crack in the ceiling. They’ll probably leave that as it is, Peter thinks, and it’s a soothing thought. 

“Peter!” his mother trills up the stairs. Her voice just borders on shrill. She hasn’t screeched yet, not in Harrington’s company. “Breakfast is ready!”

He can’t put it off any longer. Hauling himself up and out of bed, Peter trudges down the stairs still in his pyjamas to the kitchen. His mother is pouring tea; Harrington is reading the newspaper. The whole thing looks like the perfect advert for domestic bliss. Peter catches sight of himself in the reflection of the kettle; his tousled blonde hair, his pudgy cheeks, his paisley pyjamas. Even he looks a part of the scene. He rubs self-consciously at his cheek and pulls up a chair beside Harrington, wordlessly helping himself to bacon.

“Sleep well?” Harrington asks him, voice genial enough but without looking at him. He’s concentrating on whatever story he’s reading. 

Peter glances at the front page, at the glaring headline: VAYNOR OUSTED. HAROLD MINCHUM TIPPED AS NEW MINISTER.

“We’ve got a new Minister of Magic?” Peter asks, ignoring Harrington’s question.

Philomena gives him a sharp look as she slides a glass of milk towards him. 

Harrington, however, doesn’t seem to mind skipping pleasantries and diving straight to politics. 

“We will soon enough. No one had any confidence in Vaynor, in the end. Good thing too. I found some of her policies and views extremely dated. Especially nowadays. We need someone a bit more of a hardliner.”

“And that’s him - Harold Minchum?”

“He’s certainly got more mettle than Vaynor. Not afraid to do what it takes, or so he says. We need someone with a firm hand. There’s some very funny folk about these days.”

“The Death Eaters,” Peter says, and there’s a loud crash as his mum drops the plate she’s holding. 

She bends to pick it up, but Harrington has his wand out and is Vanishing the broken pieces before she can. He holds his other arm out, touching her briefly on the arm. 

“Now, Phil, don’t get upset. He’s fifteen; he’ll see the news and know what’s going on.”

Peter sits up straighter in his chair. “That’s right, I do.”

His mum never speaks to him like this, like he’s capable of forming his own opinions and contributing to these sorts of discussions. Harrington is looking at him thoughtfully. Peter can hear noises behind him that tells him that his mum is washing up the dishes, and with some vigour, a sure sign that she’s none too pleased with the direction this conversation is taking.

Before she can comment and ruin everything, Peter says, all in a rush, “Do you think they’ll get stronger? My mate Sirius says I’m thick if I think that the Aurors will catch them all. He says that the government is sitting on their ars -”

“Peter Reginald Pettigrew, that’s quite enough!” his mother barks. 

But Harrington says, “Is your friend a Black?”

“Er - yes,” Peter says, casting a quick look over his shoulder at his mother. Philomena has her arms crossed, a dangerous look on her pinched face, but Harrington doesn’t seem to mind and so Peter doesn’t either. “How did you know?”

“Constellation name,” Harrington says simply. “I’ve dealt with Orion and Walburga enough. They’ve never mentioned a Sirius, but I’m guessing it’s some relation.”

Peter doesn’t tell him that Sirius is their son. Although Harrington is speaking of Mr and Mrs Black as if he knows them, Peter doubts this is the case. Harrington must just be trying to look impressive. He’s not a Pureblood, not by the Black standards, so any ‘dealings’ Harrington has had, Peter is sure it’s purely of the antique variety.

“They come into your shop, do they?”

“Oh, Orion is quite the collector,” Harrington says airily. 

Peter can’t imagine Mr and Mrs Black setting foot inside a poky antique shop in Kwizik Alley. Peter is willing to bet his last Galleon that Harrington has never seen more of Orion Black than a signature on an order form, or as a name printed the society pages of the paper.

He ignores this, though, and presses on, “Do you think it’s true? That the government are sitting - um, I mean, that they aren’t doing enough?”

“The Death Eaters do seem to be proving difficult to control. Of course, there’s not much that the government can do to silence a voice growing as loud as theirs. They have a lot of support.”

“But they’re nutters!” Peter says. “It’s not just - a voice, or whatever. They’re actually doing things - they’re hurting people!”

Harrington strokes his moustache, narrowing his eyes at Peter as if trying to work him out. 

“There are others though, who think that they have a point. Not the extremists, of course,” he says, off Peter’s incredulous look. “You get the bad ones in every faction. But there are plenty of people who support the cause, even if they don’t condone the actions.”

“I don’t understand,” Peter says, frowning.

“Well, it’s not all Death Eaters. I think those are a very select, misguided few. Ruining it for the rest of them, if you ask me. If Minchum can round up those few, get them off the streets, then maybe the less - volatile people will be able to be heard. You know, the ones that are worried about the dilution of magical blood. A fair concern, some would say. People have a right to want to protect their heritage, do they not?”

“My dad is Muggle-born,” Peter says slowly. “I’m not a Pureblood.”

“Your mother comes from strong stock!” Harrington says jovially. “And your dad, whatever his faults, is magical. Your blood is pure enough. Same as mine. My father’s father was a baker in Muggle Nottingham. But on my mother’s side? Why, I can be traced back to the Notts and the Fawcetts!”

He sounds, to Peter, a lot more proud of the latter than he does about his Muggle grandfather. Peter’s head hurts. The way Harrington makes it sound is confusing. Peter is proud of his magical blood - he doesn’t think it makes him better than anyone, though, not really - although maybe it’s possible for the two to be independent of each other. He wants to ask James what he thinks, but then he thinks that James won’t approve of Harrington.

“Have you quite finished?” Philomena snaps, making Peter jump. “I need help clearing the attic, Peter. It’s full of doxies.”

Peter sighs. “Yes, Mum.”

He crams the rest of the bacon into his mouth, takes a swig of orange juice, and rises from his chair. His mother bustles out of the room, and before he follows, Peter is stopped by Harrington sliding the paper across the table to him. It’s folded down on the political section.

“It probably wouldn’t hurt to brush up on your politics,” Harrington says. “Also, if you’re bored this summer, I’d love a helping hand down at the shop. You meet the most _fascinating_ people!”

He gives Peter a wink and leans across to place a chummy hand on his shoulder. Peter, now even more confused as to what to make of this man, goes to fetch the gloves and the doxy spray and to mull everything over.

::

_Dear Andromeda,_

_I hope all three of you are well. Thank you for the pictures you sent of Nymphadora - I mean, I’m assuming that’s who it was, right? (I kid, before you go off on one, of course I know my own cousin!)_

_Ted mentioned about the incident in the park. I’m writing to tell you that I think I will make a much better candidate for looking after the sprog! I promise I won’t take home the wrong child, at any rate. Pleaseee can I take her out for the day? I bet you she misses me. I got the picture she drew of me as well. My hair has gotten a bit longer than when she last saw it - tell her that for future drawings please!_

_Let me know when is best for Sirius and Nymphadora’s Day Of Fun._

_If you could direct your reply owl to the beech tree at the bottom of the garden; that seems to work best. Mother and Father never venture down there and I can pick up my post in peace!_

_Love,_

_Sirius_  
::

_Dear Ted,_

_HAHA I can’t believe you nearly took home the wrong child from the park! Hilarious._

_I’ve asked Andromeda if I can steal Dora for a day, do you think she’ll let me? Talk her round, if you’re not still in the dog house. I’ve told her how best to reply. DON’T SEND OWLS TO THE HOUSE, TA._

_Best,_

_Sirius_

_PS: How about the new Minister, eh? Looks a bit sour-faced.  
PPS: Oh, yeah, and tell Andromeda that mother has invited my friends over in two days time. Any advice??_

::

_Sirius,_

_Well done on the tree delivery idea. I used to do a similiar thing when I was owling Ted without my parents knowing. Once he even wrote to the local Muggle post office and I picked it up from there. I convinced the old dear that worked there that there had been a mass escape from the nearby bird sanctuary._

_Anyway. I hope you realise that as my husband, Ted shares everything with me. At least he does now that he’s in serious trouble for nearly losing our child in the park and attempting to abduct somebody else’s offspring in the process. Anyway, as he shares everything with me, devoted husband that he is (note the sarcasm, if you please), this means that I read your letter to him._

_Point one - it was not hilarious. It was mortifying._

_Point two - of course he’s in the dog house still._

_Point three - my child’s name is Nymphadora. I didn’t name her with the extra syllables for the fun of it, and they are not optional._

_Point four - of course you can look after her for a day. She’s a mini hurricane on legs these days, BY ALL MEANS TAKE HER._

_As for your postscripts, I must admit that I nearly choked on my tea. Not about the Minister. That one was a long time coming. But the news about your friends being invited to Grimmauld. Is this a trap? Has Aunt Walburga gone mad finally? My advice is BE ALERT._

_Do your parents still go to the club in Knockturn every week? If so, try to Floo us before the day, and I’ll talk to you about it properly then, and we can arrange a day for you to come over. It’s been too long. I miss you._

_Looking forward to seeing you and your vagabond hair in my fireplace soon._

_All my love,_

_Andromeda_

::

Orion and Walburga Black do indeed still go to the club once a week, usually Wednesday evenings. It’s a dark, musty smelling building with heavy drapes and dim lighting, frequented by Slytherin alumni. Sirius remembers being taken there a few times when he was younger, when Mother was busy shopping and Orion would tap him conspiratorially on the shoulder and say, “Shall we nip to the club, eh, son? Just us boys while she’s buying half of Knockturn?” 

His father probably thought it was some epic treat, but Sirius didn’t much care for being paraded in front of men and women his dad’s age, all sipping drinks from fine crystal and appraising him through a perpetual plume of cigar smoke. 

This was all before his Sorting, back when he was still his parent’s pride and joy, and although a lot has changed since then - his mother doesn’t frequent the shops anymore, preferring to send Kreacher or getting it all delivered; and certainly Sirius is not paraded in front of anyone anymore - once a week, still his parents get dressed up and head to the club to mingle with their old friends.

Sirius waits until he’s certain that they’ve left and aren’t coming back for a good few hours before he sneaks some Floo powder to use in the fireplace in his bedroom. He chucks in the powder, sticks his head in the roaring flames, and after shouting the name of Ted and Andromeda’s and a few seconds of whirling unpleasantness, Sirius finds himself looking out at his cousin’s coffee table legs and an assortment of toys scattered on the floor.

“Drom!” he calls. “Ted! It’s me! Hello? It’s a bit painful on the knees, is this, if you could hurry up -”

“Wotcher, Sirius,” Ted’s voice says, and soon enough the whole of him follows as he kneels down to Sirius’ level. 

“Keep it down,” Andromeda says, dropping into view as well. “Nymphadora has just fallen asleep. I’ll skin you alive if you wake her.”

“Good to see you too,” Sirius mutters.

His sulkiness isn’t real and Andromeda knows it. She beams at him; he grins back.

“Have we got long?” she asks.

“They’ve gone out,” Sirius replies. “Sorry it’s just a drop-in, but I need to keep an ear out for things my end in case - there’s Kreacher, and Regulus -”

Andromeda’s expression turns sympathetic. “I know, darling. I’m no stranger to secret Floo calls, I’m afraid. Anyway. Let’s make this brief. Your mother has invited over your friends, you say?”

“Yes! And it’s so weird and unexpected and - and it’s just not Mother! You know what she’s like. I’m sure she’s probably planning to poison them all at supper.”

Ted laughs, but Andromeda looks thoughtful. Sirius knows she understands that he’s not kidding around.

“I can only assume,” she says slowly, “that Aunt Walburga is trying to get into your good graces somehow. You are the eldest son. You’re nearly sixteen. It won’t have escaped her attention that her heir is slipping away. Perhaps she means to try to sabotage your relationship with them somehow, make them out to be the ones who are bad for you.”

“That will never happen!” 

Andromeda shrugs. “Your mother is a desperate woman, and not prone to rational decision making.”

“Any advice?”

Andromeda surprises him when she says, simply, “Endure it. It’s one evening. Smile, sit there, tell your friends to keep a low profile and not rise to anything - you don’t rise to anything, Sirius - and soon enough it will all be over and you can carry on. She’ll realise she’s not swayed you. She’ll sulk for a while. She’ll move on.”

“To the next scheme,” Sirius says miserably, thinking of the Cressida Carrow debacle all over again.

His cousin doesn’t dispute this. Sirius wonders, not for the first time, how long it will be until he ends up just like her: forced out, kicked out, just _out, out, out_. Andromeda is right, he’s sixteen soon, and he knows that there’s a crossroads looming. A decision that really isn’t a decision at all, because he feels he made it four years ago, as soon as James Potter became his best friend. 

“You should come over as soon as it’s over with. You’ll be going to James Potter’s place, I’m assuming?”

Sirius nods. “Hopefully.”

“She’ll be looking for any excuse to bar you from seeing him,” Andromeda warns, “so tell him no funny business. If he’s anything like you, and I’m guessing he is, then tell him to just reign his temper in for a night. Don’t give them a reason to ruin the rest of your summer. If you tell your parents you’re going to the Potter’s, then just come here a few days beforehand. Bring your friends. You can all look after Nymphadora, if you like.”

“That is what I had in mind,” Sirius says with another grin, his spirits lifting.

“You’re all mad,” Ted says, shaking his head.

There’s a banging sound and for a second Sirius thinks that it’s on their end, that Nymphadora has knocked something over, until he remembers that Nymphadora is in bed. Andromeda’s heard it too; she looks around and then back to Sirius, her eyes widening, her hands flapping as she shoos him away.

He wrenches his head from the fire so fast he feels sick. Looking around wildly, his heart sinks when he sees his brother stood in his room. 

“I did knock. Quite loudly.”

“I was -”

“Busy, obviously,” Regulus says, his voice crisp. “Were you talking to Andromeda?”

Sirius’ intake of breath is almost a hiss. His cousin’s name hasn’t been mentioned aloud in the house for years. His reaction is more than enough, and Sirius feels his stomach plummet as he watches Regulus’ expression become one of comprehension.

“I’ll kill you if you tell,” Sirius says hoarsely.

Regulus tilts his head to one side. “I won’t tell.”

“You what?” Sirius asks, eyes narrowing. “Regulus, if this is your idea of a joke, I swear to Merlin -”

“I won’t tell,” Regulus repeats. “I have no desire to have you and Mother screaming at each other all night. Nor to see you kicked out of the house, believe it or not.”

Sirius stares at his brother for a long, long time. Regulus stares right back, his gaze focused and steady. Sirius blinks first. 

He believes it.

“What did you want?” Sirius asks, moving to sit on his bed, eager to forget this happened at all. 

Mentally he’s kicking himself. He was so wrapped up in his conversation, he hadn’t been paying much attention at all. It could have been Kreacher, or worse: it could have been Mother.

“I was going to ask what you wanted for dinner. Kreacher asked me what I would like preparing. I thought he wouldn’t come to ask you if you had a preference.” There’s a flicker of a smile on his brother’s face. “Good thing he didn’t.”

Sirius stares at his hands in his lap. “Er. Whatever you want. I’m not really hungry, to be honest.”

“Which means you’ll raid the pantry at midnight,” Regulus says, an air of impatience creeping into his tone. He sounds more like the irritating little brother Sirius is used to.

“Probably,” Sirius admits. “Maybe I’ll wake Kreacher up and get him to make me something.”

“You’ll make it yourself,” Regulus says firmly. Is there a hint of a threat there? Sirius can’t tell. Regulus smiles slightly, and Sirius realises he’s teasing when he adds, “And you’ll bring me up a plate of whatever you help yourself to.”

After a while, Sirius smiles back. “Yeah. Yeah, all right then.”


	49. the boggart in the clock.

_July 1975._

On the morning of the day he’s due to go to Grimmauld Place, Remus wakes up feeling dreadful. 

It’s been a while - ages, if he really thinks of it - since he’s ever felt any kind of ‘dreadful’ that doesn’t have to do with the moon. So long in fact that it takes him a few minutes of working out the dates of the last and next full moon to realise that no, it’s nothing to do with the moon; he’s simply feeling unwell. 

“You have a temperature,” his mum says, feeling his forehead with the back of her hand when he mentions it at breakfast over his bowl of untouched porridge.

“The full moon isn’t for ages yet,” his dad says.

As he speaks, Lyall glances at the calendar on the wall that details the lunar cycle. It’s a handy thing to have, thoroughly detailed and in constant motion, but Remus has never enjoyed seeing the dates to the next painful transformation being so blatantly displayed, and indeed he’s never even needed it. It’s as if the phases of the moon are etched into his very bones. He doesn’t need a calendar to remind him of that.

“I know,” Remus says, his voice slightly tinged with wonder as well as nausea. “I think I’ve got the flu or something.”

Lyall is looking politely incredulous. It’s a rarity, really. Werewolves have a naturally strong immune system, and it’s summer besides. Remus sighs, his head feeling impossibly heavy. Trust him to get ill on the first week of the holidays, and on the day when he needs his wits about him.

“Well, you can’t go this evening to your friend’s house,” Hope says briskly. “I’m afraid that’s that. I know you were looking forward to it, sweetheart, but -”

Remus nearly laughs. He hasn’t been looking forward to it at all. Dreading it, to be quite honest. The thought of spending an evening with the Blacks makes him feel ill all by itself, but he doesn’t tell his mum this. His parents are under the impression he’s off to a nice family gathering for a spot of supper, and he’s not about to ruin that image, and he’s not about to not go. He needs to be there for Sirius.

“I’ll manage,” he says. “Honestly, Mum, it’s not like I’ve not had worse.”

His mum’s eyebrows knit together in concern. She clasps her hands together tightly and shoots a look at Lyall, who merely shrugs.

“He’s got a point, love.”

It’s how Remus ends up coughing down a Pepper-Up Potion twenty minutes before he’s due to be dispatched through the Floo to Grimmauld Place. With steam still pouring out of his ears at sporadic intervals, his head still pounding and his nose still unpleasantly sniffly, Remus considers it a miracle that he manages to get off at the correct fireplace at all in the state he’s in. 

He’s first struck by the gleaming wooden floor that he steps out on to, so clean that he can almost see his reflection. Slowly, he looks around to take in the rest of the room, starting with the fireplace that he’s just appeared from. A large, intricately designed mantelpiece shows the Black family crest with the words _tojours pur_ engraved starkly in the marble. 

Movement in his peripheral vision catches his attention, and Remus turns to see a house-elf making his hobbled way to the middle of the room. 

“Kreacher wonders if this one is Pettigrew or Lupin, it must be Lupin, Master Regulus says Pettigrew is fat and this one looks too spindly, like he might collapse, Kreacher hopes he wont, a mess on Mistress’s floor -”

“Hello,” Remus says, interrupting this delightful monologue. “It’s Lupin. Remus Lupin.”

He wonders if he should shake the house-elf’s hand or something, but then thinks better of it. Kreacher looks up at him properly, and his eyes widen and then narrow in quick succession; he looks hastily down at the floor and takes several steps back, muttering furiously to himself, but too quick and too low for Remus to make any of it out.

Remus desperately wishes Sirius were here.

The door opens and for a fraction of a second Remus thinks his prayers have been answered, but then he realises that it’s Regulus.

“Lupin,” he says, nodding cordially.

“Master Regulus, don’t go near it!” Kreacher yelps.

Regulus frowns at his elf, and then looks quizzically at Remus. Remus feels his heart still in his chest. 

_It._

“I apologise for Kreacher,” Regulus says smoothly, recovering from the outburst a lot quicker than Remus, who still feels as though his heart is somewhere by his ankles. “He’s not normally quite so rude. Kreacher, go to the kitchen.”

“Master -”

“Go to the kitchen,” Regulus says firmly. “And not another word. We treat guests with respect, Kreacher.”

Kreacher disappears with a _crack_ , but not without one last resentful look aimed at Remus. For a horrible moment Remus thinks he’s going to be left alone with Regulus, who despite his preoccupation with manners and the formalities of hosting, is still not high on the list of people Remus would like to be left alone with to make small talk. Or worse, Regulus might query Kreacher’s attitude to him, and Remus will have to think of a reply to that.

Remus is saved from having to do any of this by the door opening again, this time with much more of a bang. Regulus winces at the sound of the heavy wood hitting the panelled walls, but Remus feels slightly better at the sight of Sirius and Peter. 

“Remus, sorry to keep you,” Sirius says loudly. He raps his knuckles on Peter’s head, grinning. “Had to fetch this one.”

“Came out of the wrong exit,” Peter says, perfectly cheerful. “Must have botched the name a bit. Remus, you look dreadful.”

“Thanks,” Remus murmurs. 

Sirius eyes him closely, probably thinking that Peter has never spoken a truer word. Remus feels dreadful, and having Sirius look at him like that isn’t helping settle his stomach any.

“Were you okay in my brother’s company for so long?” Sirius says, and Remus is grateful that he doesn’t say anything about his appearance. He feels uncomfortable enough in the company of Regulus without making a big deal out of being ill.

Regulus rolls his eyes half-heartedly, and Sirius smiles. It shows the exchange for what it is: brotherly teasing. Remus isn’t in any state to decipher the relationship between Sirius and his brother. It would take too long, and his mind is preoccupied besides, but he can’t recall a time when they’ve kept their bickering and insults fairly civil. This is something new.

“James is already here,” Sirius continues, already turning to walk back through the doors, beckoning that Remus follow him.

Remus deliberately lingers long enough before going through the door that Regulus and Peter go on ahead. Sirius looks over his shoulder at him, and must see something in his expression, because he drops back a few steps and asks, lowly, “What’s up then? Why do you look so awful?”

“Kreacher knows,” Remus says, all in a rush. “I don’t know how, but -”

“Do come along, Sirius!” calls Regulus in a bored voice.

Remus clamps his mouth shut, but he can tell by the look in Sirius’ eye that he knows what Remus is talking about. Sirius touches him on the upper arm briefly, and says, “I’ll sort it.”

::

Dinner is probably one of the worst ordeals that Remus has had to go through whilst not under a full moon.

Walburga and Orion Black are seated at either end of the dining table that is so big it wouldn’t even fit in the Lupin family kitchen. Remus, Peter, and Regulus are on one side; James and Sirius on the other. Peter is to the left of Remus, and keeps glancing down at the array of cutlery with a poorly hidden look of alarm on his face as each dish is served. Remus, who has Regulus on his other side, keeps stealing glances at what he’s using, and then tries to nudge Peter so that he can see what to do as well. This surprisingly complex method of dining means that he doesn’t hear what Mrs Black says to him, halfway through the foie gras, and she ends up having to repeat herself, asking what his father does at the Ministry with an icy expression on her face. Remus doubts she’s ever had to repeat herself for anyone, and he thinks longingly of stabbing himself with one of his many forks.

“He’s - he’s in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, ma’am,” Remus says.

Mrs Black’s expression remains neutral. “I see.”

“The Lupin who got rid of the Screaming Bogey of Strathtully?” Mr Black enquires.

Remus nods. “Yes, sir.”

“I assume all this was before he met your mother. I can’t recall hearing of him since,” Mrs Black remarks. “Marriage dulled him and his sense of adventure somewhat, did it?”

“And are you yourself good with Boggarts, Lupin?” Mr Black asks with a laugh that doesn’t reach his eyes whatsoever.

“Remus gets top marks in Defence every year,” Sirius says, jumping in before Remus can think of a way to reply. “He was brilliant in Third Year when we covered Boggarts.”

“I wasn’t too good with mine,” James puts in. “It turned into a giant hairbrush and bottle of Sleakeazy’s, although that’s a recurring nightmare since childhood so you’d think I’d be used to it by now.”

Sirius laughs loudly. Peter grins, and Remus shoots both of his friends a grateful look across the table. Even Regulus is smiling, but Walburga and Orion are both stony-faced. 

“It was a joke, Mother,” Regulus says. 

Walburga smiles, once, a sharp drawing up of the lips that looks more like a snarl. “How very droll.”

They’re on their fourth course when Remus realises two things:

One is that although James has been doing the majority of the talking this evening, and the Blacks have even asked Remus some questions, they’ve never once spoken to Peter. Peter, for his part, seems infinitely glad at this, but Remus knows that it probably has something to do with his father and stepmother. They don’t ask any questions about what Remus’ mother does, either, and Remus wonders what their reaction would be if he started talking about how she used to be a primary school teacher.

The second thing that comes to Remus’ attention is that Kreacher is behaving very oddly. He serves Remus last every time, and practically throws the dish at him from a safe distance, but never actually says anything. Even when he looks like he might, when he opens up his mouth as if to speak, he then shuts it again and makes an odd squeaking sound instead. 

Remus thinks that Sirius has probably jinxed him somehow, but can’t think of a way to ask Sirius with so many eyes on them.

Not for the first time, Remus is envious of how easily James seems to find all of this.

He’s wearing deep burgundy dress robes with gold trim at the hems, and if he feels out of place, it’s certainly not showing. James is even using all of the cutlery correctly first time without ever having to check and see what anybody else is doing, Remus notices. He answers Walburga’s questions succinctly but politely, and apart from that one Boggart joke, he’s really being the model guest. 

Sirius started the meal uncharacteristically silent, but the more James talks, about Hogwarts mostly, and how they’re finding all of their classes, and Quidditch, and what O.W.Ls he’s taking - safe conversational subjects - the more Sirius seems to relax. It’s strange, seeing him like this, how reserved he is. Every time Walburga questions Remus, Remus can see Sirius grip his knife a bit tighter, but when James is doing the talking, he doesn’t seem as tense. 

“Would anyone care for a digestif?” Walburga asks, after the sorbet has been cleared away.

“No, thank you, Mrs Black,” James says, and Peter and Remus follow suit.

“May we be excused, Father?” Sirius asks. 

Orion nods. “You may.” All five boys rise from the table, but then Orion adds, “Oh, Regulus, you’ll join me for a glass of Ogden’s, won’t you, son?”

Regulus halts, his hand on the back of his chair, about to push it under the table. “Of course, Father,” he says.

Orion’s smile looks almost warm. “We’ll take it in my study. Come. Kreacher, bring the decanter!”

“Come on, I’ll show you my room,” Sirius says as soon as they’re out of the dining room. 

He leads them up two flights of stairs to a room decorated in Gryffindor red and gold, and dominated by a four-poster bed. James laughs appreciatively.

“Wow, and they let you get away with this?” he asks, running his hand through his hair for the first time that evening and surveying his surroundings.

“Not really,” Sirius says, launching himself on the bed and loosening the topmost button of his robes. “But I’ve got a Permanent Sticking Charm on them, so there’s not much Mother can do except scream at me.”

“This got a Sticking Charm on it as well, eh?” Peter says, sniggering.

Remus walks over to see what he’s looking at. On the wall, alongside pictures of motorcycles, are pictures of Muggle girls in bikinis.

“No, bet they’re just sticky,” James says lewdly, earning himself a smack on the back of the head from Sirius.

“You pervert,” he says.

“Me? Black, I’m not the one with half naked girls on my walls!”

“No, you’ve just got them hidden in magazines under your bed in that trunk -”

“You know about that?!” James yelps.

Remus lets it all wash over him. He stares at the pictures of the girls, although it’s making his queasiness return slightly, to think that this is what Sirius must be attracted to. 

“All right, Moony?” Peter asks, bringing his attention back to the here and now, where Sirius has James in a headlock. 

“Yeah,” James says, resurfacing with his glasses wonky. “Are you okay? You’ve looked awful tonight. The full moon isn’t for ages.”

“I just have a cold, or something,” Remus says absently. “I should probably head home soon and take some more Pepper-Up.”

“You’ve been ill?” Sirius asks, frowning. “Remus, you didn’t have to come if you weren’t feeling great. My parents are hard work at the best of times.”

“Of course I did,” Remus says with a wan smile. “You wanted me here.”

“I think we managed tonight brilliantly,” James says. “No one let off any Dung-Bombs, no one hexed Regulus. Good show, men.”

“You were brilliant,” Peter says, gnawing on a thumbnail and glancing quickly at James. “With your knowledge of knives and forks and your _conversation_.”

“My folks used to drag me to dinner parties when I was younger all the time,” James says nonchalantly. “It’s no big deal if you’re used to it.”

Sirius curls his lip, for one brief and awful moment looking as disdainful as his mother. “I hated all that. I used to sneak off to find Andromeda, and we’d both be bored together, although she was always better at pretending than I was.”

“Clearly got sick of pretending in the end, though,” James says.

Sirius smiles, showing his teeth. The expression banishes all traces of Walburga from his face, and he’s completely Sirius again. Remus decides that he can probably manage to stick around for a little while longer.

They don’t spend much longer in Sirius’ room, as comforting as it is to be surrounded by all things Sirius in a house that for the most part is utterly un-Sirius. They make their way back down the flights of stairs, back past the photographs of tutting ancestors, and the heads of house-elves mounted on the walls that cast sinister shadows across the already gloomy hallways of Grimmauld Place. 

It’s strange, to imagine a person as bright as Sirius living in this place filled with shadows upon shadows. Remus watches how he expertly avoids looking at the heads, how he holds his head higher as they pass a severe looking woman in a dark shawl who hisses from her frame for Sirius to cut his hair.

“And you’re looking as ravishing as ever, Violetta,” Sirius says, pausing just enough to give the portrait a roguish wink and to cause a fresh outbreak of glares and tutting from Violetta and her fellows.

Sirius leads them through a door adjacent to the dining room. It’s so dark that at first all Remus can see are indistinguishable mounds heaped in the corners; it’s after several moments of blinking into the gloom that Remus realises that the mounds are dust covers thrown over furniture. 

“So this is where you keep all your spare pianos and chandeliers?” Remus says dryly.

“I know I struggle with where to put mine,” says Peter, smirking, and expertly dodges the hand that Sirius reaches out to cuff him with.

“It’s my parents,” Sirius mutters. “They buy things that we don’t need, want, or use, just because they can. It all ends up here.”

James coughs, probably dislodging dust. “And we’re here because…?” 

Sirius crosses the length of the dusky room, coming to a stop in front of the tallest piece of shrouded furniture. It’s situated in front of a floor length window, the curtains drawn but through which the last remaining vestiges of outside light are struggling to come through. It’s enough light, just, for Remus to make out the shape of a grandfather clock underneath the dust sheet.

“We’re here for this,” says Sirius. 

The other three join him, and Remus is about to ask what he’s on about, when something decidedly not a clock gives a violent rattle, the sheet billowing out and sending dust on to their shoes.

“It’s a Boggart,” Sirius says before anyone can ask. “Moved in here about a week ago. Mother and Father aren’t bothered but Regulus refuses to come anywhere near this room now and races by on his way to dinner. Daft old brush. I suppose I could just leave it, but I thought, well, as we’re here…”

“You want us to get rid of it?” says Peter, who had taken a step back as soon as the clock gave its first shake and is now looking at Sirius as though he’s off his rocker.

“Well,” Sirius says, casting a shifty eye over to Remus. “Moony did get the best mark in Defence.”

Remus sighs. “And this has nothing to do with how your parents acted towards me at dinner? Something you can show off - _look, Dad, the half-blood can handle himself_.”

“It’s just a Boggart, Moony, you can get rid of it easy.”

“So can you!” Remus says, irritated now. “I’m tired, Sirius, and not feeling well, and I don’t have anything to prove to your family. I came here tonight for you. Besides, getting rid of a Boggart won’t change how they see people like me and Pete. You know that. Sorry, Pete,” he adds.

Peter shrugs affably. “S’all right. It’s true.”

Sirius stares moodily at the dusty floor. _Great_ , Remus thinks, _now he’ll go off into one of his sulks_ , and without really pausing to think any more Remus whips off the dust sheet, yanks open the front of the clock, and has stepped in front of his friends before the Boggart can focus on any of them instead.

The moon hangs tauntingly in front of him, and then it flickers and changes, morphing in to a replica of Sirius, Sirius with a long set of claw marks down his pale face and an unmistakable bite mark on his neck. Remus hadn’t even been aware that he had his wand out ready but now he feels it go slack in his hand as he watches, horrified, as Sirius writhes in agony, buckling, twisting, about to transform.

“Remus,” says Sirius, and touches his hand. 

It’s warm, even though Sirius’ voice is shaky, and it’s the real Sirius. Remus forces this to the front of his mind, trying to block out the sound of the Boggart’s screams. Sirius holds Remus’ sweaty hand tightly, and moves forward; the Boggart changes, growing into the shape of Walburga Black saying crisply, “We’ll pull you out, you know, you’ll never see them again, or your brother, they'll hate you -”

“Oh, do shut up,” Remus snaps, gripping his wand again, the feel of Sirius’ hand in his urging him on.

Not-Walburga turns, looking affronted, and the Boggart attempts another change. It doesn’t work, and the resulting effect is a Boggart with Walburga Black’s body, with a comically large moon where a head should be.

“ _Riddikulus!_ ” Remus says firmly.

There’s a popping sound, and the moon deflates like a pricked balloon. From somewhere deep within himself, Remus forces laughter out. Walburga’s body staggers sideways. Remus can hear Sirius’ chuckle from beside him, and seconds later the body withers to the floor and is gone.

Remus stares at the place where the Boggart had been. Even though he’d just been concentrating with everything he had on how funny it would be if Mrs Black had a permanent moon for a head, there doesn’t seem anything remotely amusing about any of it now. He clenches his hand, which now feels cold and empty without Sirius’ in it, and glances at James, who is stood looking blankly at the place where the screaming Sirius had been too.

“Well,” Peter says faintly. “That was -”

The door bursts open and Regulus rushes in. Remus thinks that he’s never seen the younger Black look scared before, but moments later the look is gone as Regulus takes in the three of them, and his expression turns to one of confusion.

“I heard - I thought I heard you yelling out.”

“I’m okay,” Sirius says quickly. “We’re fine. It was only the Boggart.”

“Where’s it gone?” Regulus asks, looking around the room warily.

“Gone,” James says, when Sirius hesitates. “Remus got rid of it.”

Regulus is looking at each of them in turn, his expression unreadable. Remus hopes he isn’t going to ask any more questions or pry further. His mind flashes to the image of the mauled Sirius and he feels his stomach sharply twist.

“Thought you were with Father?” Sirius asks, and if there’s something off about his voice, Regulus doesn’t let on that he notices it.

“Got bored,” he mutters. “Thought I’d come see where you all got to. That’s when I heard…all the commotion.”

“Right.” Sirius swings his arms by his sides, and then says, a bit too loudly, “Shall we get out of here then? Bit dark and gloomy in here.”

None of them need telling twice. The rest of the house isn’t any brighter or more welcoming, but Remus feels instantly better when he’s back out in the hallway of Grimmauld Place, house-elf heads and scowling portraits be damned.

“Do you fancy a tea?” Sirius asks, still a couple of levels above his normal volume. He’s looking at all of them, but his gaze lingers for longer on Remus than it does on James or Peter, and Remus is thankful for the cover of shadowy darkness as he feels his face redden. “Or anything else?” Sirius carries on. “Surprisingly, Kreacher makes a really good hot chocolate.”

Remus shifts awkwardly at the mention of Kreacher. “I don’t think he took too well to me,” he says pointedly.

Comprehension dawns on Sirius’ face, and then Regulus speaks up, looking indignant.

“Kreacher is acting strangely tonight. I went to see him, before I found you, just to ask if he had any brandy snaps left over, and do you know he never even spoke to me!” 

Under normal circumstances Remus would probably find Regulus sulking over being slighted by a house-elf funny, but at the moment he’s too busy piecing things together in his mind.

Regulus continues, “He hasn’t uttered one word to me all evening, not since -”

“Since you told him not to,” Remus says.

Regulus blinks at him. “Pardon?”

“Before, when I came out of the Floo, and he was - er, he was rude to me. You said to him “not another word”, remember? Is there a chance he took that as a direct order?”

“Blimey,” James says, a hint of a chuckle in his voice. “Your house-elf really respects you, eh?”

Peter laughs, but Regulus is looking worried.

“Oh, bother. That silly old thing. I had better go and find him.”

He leaves them in the hallway, hurriedly disappearing up the dark stairs, and Remus feels his insides clench for the one-hundredth time over the course of the evening.

“Sirius, as soon as Regulus tells him he can speak, Kreacher will let him know, he’ll tell him -”

James seems to have cottoned on; his eyes behind his glasses have gone serious. Peter is just looking from Sirius to Remus, confusion evident on his face. Remus knows he’s probably dying to ask what on earth is going on, but senses it’s not the right time.

“It’s okay. Kreacher might love my brother, but he has to listen to me too. I’m the heir, after all,” Sirius says grimly, and then, speaking with such authority that Remus takes a moment to file away how impressive it is, Sirius says, “Kreacher, I command you to come here.”

There’s a _crack_ , and the house-elf appears, looking reluctant. Sirius crouches down so that they’re both eye-to-eye. His voice is low when he speaks, but not with any less conviction. 

“Kreacher. In a moment Regulus is going to find you, and he’s going to tell you that you are free to talk. When he does so, you are not - under any circumstances, ever - to tell him, or anybody else, anything that you think that you know or that you might suspect about Remus. You are categorically forbidden to ever even mention Remus. If you do, so help me, I will make it my mission in life to banish you from this house. I’ll _Imperio_ the whole lot of my family to give you clothes if I have to. Do you understand?”

There’s a long moment in which Kreacher glares hatefully at Sirius, and then he dips his head in a short nod and bows in a jerky motion like a puppet trying to resist its strings being pulled.

Remus releases the breath he’s been holding.

There’s something darker, more dangerous about Sirius this way, the hint of the Black family after all in the glint in his eye. But when he straightens up, he’s all smiles again, as if he didn’t just threaten the use of an Unforgivable for all to hear.

“Wonderful!” he says brightly. “So glad I was clear. You can go and find Regulus now.”

Kreacher’s disappearing leaves a hush like dust settling over them all in the claustrophobic hallway. Sirius glances at Remus, his smile wavering a bit. Remus isn’t used to Sirius like this, looking unsure, seeking confirmation that he’s done the right thing.

“Thank you,” Remus says softly.

Sirius visibly relaxes, his shoulders slumping in relief. 

Peter clears his throat, and Sirius snaps his attention away from Remus at last. He looks at Peter like he’d forgotten anyone else was there.

“I had better be getting off, mate. My mum will be doing her nut most likely. Which way is the Floo?”

It seems to take a moment for Peter’s words to register, but then Sirius springs into action, ushering them all back through the door leading to the room with the impressive fireplace.

“Hopefully see you soon, yeah?” Peter says, grabbing a handful of Floo powder.

Sirius reaches out and catches Peter’s arm before he can throw any powder into the grate. 

“Wait, that reminds me! I told my cousin that we’d all be up for a day of looking after Nymphadora. What do you say?”

“I’m not sure,” Peter says after a pause. “I did promise my mum’s boyfriend that I’d help him out in his shop over the summer…”

James makes a noise suspiciously like a laugh but covers his mouth with his hand when Peter whips his head round to glare at him. He coughs, and then asks, with an air of complete innocent, “Your mum has a boyfriend?”

Peter turns faintly pink. He looks like an angry marshmallow. It completely takes the venom out of the rude hand gesture he gives James.

“His name his Harrington. Harrington Mawsley. I don’t suppose that rings any bells, Sirius?”

Sirius had been smirking as well, but adopts a politely nonplussed look when Peter turns to him.

“No, can’t say that it does, mate. Should it?”

Peter shakes his head. For some reason he’s smiling faintly now as well. “Nah. I assumed as much. Anyway. Thanks for inviting me over. I’ll see you all in Diagon if not before, yeah?”

The emerald flames from the Floo have barely died out when Sirius turns on James and Remus.

“What about you two? A day out with a toddler? What could you possibly have going on in your lives that could be more important than that?”

“I’m up for it,” James says. “Your cousin and Ted are cool.”

Remus shrugs. He doesn’t have any experience with young children and tends to regard anyone smaller than his torso with a mixture of apprehension and mild disinterest. And yet, it’s Sirius asking, and so if Remus is willing to face an evening of Regulus, Walburga, and Orion for his sake, he’s sure he can manage Andromeda, Ted, and Nymphadora.

“Count me in,” he says.

Sirius grins at them both. “Ace. Great! I’ll tell dear old Ma and Pa I’m at yours, James. I think you managed to get yourself on the side of ‘acceptable company’ with your dress robes, table manners, and complimenting my mother’s earrings.”

“It’s a wonder women don’t fight over you in the hallways at school,” Remus remarks. “All that saucy earring talk.”

“Think he might win over McGonagall if he really tries,” Sirius says solemnly. 

James stares resolutely at the fireplace. “Not talking to either of you two callous bastards.”

Sirius grins at Remus. “It might be past someones bedtime, eh, Moony?”

It’s that grin, the shared moment at James’ expense, a joint joke after all that today has entailed, that makes Remus think that everything - the illness, the dinner, the disaster with Kreacher, the Boggart - all of it may just have been worth it.


	50. nymphadora's day out.

_Early August 1975._

Besides from the obvious physical similarities that the majority of Black family members share, most people will say that’s where the likeness between Andromeda Tonks and Walburga Black ends. After all, Walburga Black is an iron rod of a woman, unyielding in her firmness, with not much capacity for warmth or indeed love. Andromeda, however, is nothing of the sort - maternal without being overbearing or too cloying, and anyone who knows her can vouch for her affectionate side.

On the afternoon that he is to look after Nymphadora, however, Sirius can definitely see the similarities between his mother and his cousin.

Andromeda is watching the three of them - Sirius, James, and Remus - as they approach Nymphadora. Andromeda has the same knowing, slightly cruel and mocking smile that can be found on the face of someone regarding three hapless boys about to interact with a lion she knows to be particularly hungry.

“Why is she making that noise?” Sirius asks helplessly, as Nymphadora promptly bursts into tears and hides behind her father’s legs. “Ted. Is she broken?”

“Don’t be daft,” Ted says. “She’s just a bit overwhelmed. There’s three of you looming over her for a start.” Ted kneels down and faces his daughter. “Nymphadora, sweetheart, this is your cousin Sirius. You drew him the pretty pictures, remember? And this is James, and Remus.”

Nymphadora is looking no less teary. Her lip gives a wobble. Andromeda chuckles.

“Are you enjoying this?” Sirius demands. “This is mean. You’re mean! She hates me and you’re laughing.”

“Oh, darling, I’m not cruel. It’s just a phase she’s going through. Toddler dramatics. She cries at everything lately. She cried at the milkman the other day, and the little old lady at the post office who offered her a lollipop. We’ve tried telling them not to take it personally, but people are sensitive.”

Ted scoops Nymphadora up into his arms. Sirius pretends not to notice that she attempts to scramble away over his shoulder in order to get away from them all. He digs into the pockets of his jeans until he finds the piece of paper he’s brought with him - it’s the most recent drawing Nymphadora did for him, with him depicted as a stick figure drawn in chunky black crayon. He’s got no neck, and legs coming out of his head, and all around him are flowers larger than he is, practically filling the page. Sirius smoothes it out and holds it up, trying to get Nymphadora to look at it.

“Look, Nymphadora. You drew this.”

The toddler turns to look at the picture. “That’s mine,” she says.

Sirius nods. “Yeah. You gave it to me. In a letter. See, we’re friends!”

He can see James and Remus exchanging a look, but he doesn’t care if he seems demented, trying to get a two-year-old to like him. 

Nymphadora leans forward, trying to wiggle out of Ted’s arms. He lets her go, and Nymphadora reaches for the picture. Sirius hands it to her, and she stares from the picture to him with a frown making a small crease in her forehead. Aside from the dark indigo hair, the expression makes her look a bit like Regulus. 

“Flowers,” she says, tapping a chubby finger on to the picture.

“Yep,” Sirius says, crouching down next to her. “And that person there - that’s me. Sirius.”

“It might be your punk rock hair confusing her,” Andromeda says lightly. “I can cut it, if you like.”

“Don’t touch my hair,” Sirius orders. “It drives Mother mad. A few more months and I reckon I’ll be able to tie it up.”

“Take a photo of that reaction,” Andromeda says with a smile.

Nymphadora appears to have come round; she takes the drawing to the coffee table and kneels down on the carpet, upending her box of crayons all over the floor so that she can scribble intently all over the picture. Every so often she looks up at Sirius and grins, and Sirius feels better.

Andromeda conjures them all tea and they sit down in the living room. The drawing seems to have captivated Nymphadora; she barely moves apart from to add more colours on to the paper. 

“It’s the only thing that keeps her still for more than five minutes,” Andromeda says, catching Remus watching. “It’s the colours, we think. She loves bright colours. You’ve probably noticed,” she adds, gesturing to the walls, which as well as displaying family photos also has framed, brightly drawn scribbles on it.

“She’s good,” Remus says politely. “I mean. Children her age, isn’t it usually just lines and scrawls? That drawing of Sirius - he actually had a head, and limbs that were almost where they should be. Is that a magic thing?”

“Probably, or she’s just a genius,” Ted says happily. “Are you Muggle-born, Remus?”

“Half-blood,” Remus says. “Wizard dad, Muggle mum. No experience of children of either heritage.”

“Magical children are a nightmare,” Ted says. Andromeda raises her eyebrows at him, and he adds, hastily, “A wonderful nightmare, don’t get me wrong. But honestly - levitating things already, and we’ve had our fair share of small house fires. She’s not even three! I have a younger sister, Catherine, and the most we ever had to deal with with her was temper tantrums in the market or her accidentally sticking something up her nose.”

“Both of which Nymphadora still indulges in,” Andromeda says. “She must have inherited those traits from her Aunt Catherine. So, yes, just be aware boys - don’t let her near anything smaller than a satsuma.”

Remus and James are both looking horrified. Sirius begins to feel vague stirrings of something like regret for his grand plan. Ted and Andromeda are smiling.

“I can’t wait for this day off,” Ted says, nudging his wife. “We’ll have to think of a way to thank these three, eh, Drom?”

“I think our daughter’s charming company will be enough thanks,” Andromeda says serenely, a definite glint of Black in her eyes.

::

Ted and Andromeda have been gone for less than ten minutes, and they’ve all gotten as far as the end of the road with Nymphadora when Sirius starts to realise that there may be a few flaws in this plan of his.

The first and main one being that Nymphadora has decided to sit down on the pavement and is refusing to move.

“Come on, Nym, get up,” Sirius says, pulling ineffectually at the reins attached to his cousin. 

They’ve brought the pushchair with them as well, but Andromeda had banged on and on about ‘promoting independence’ and letting Nymphadora walk a little bit. Ted had looked sceptical at this, and Sirius now thinks he knows why: for a start, Nymphadora had knocked over and broken a plant pot by the front door on the way out of the house, and there’s also now the fact that she’s decided not to walk at all.

Sirius wonders if it’s too late to go screaming through the Floo after Ted and Andromeda, begging them to take their child back.

“Does she want to go in the pushchair?” James asks. He’s the one in charge of the thing, his hands gripping tightly on the handles as if he’s bracing himself for a particularly brutal Quidditch game.

“I don’t know what she wants!” Sirius says. 

“Probably her mum and dad,” Remus says, “and definitely not these three strange men.”

“I’m not a strange man, I’m her cousin.”

“You are pretty strange, mate,” James puts in.

“Shut up. She loves me.”

Sirius tries again to get Nymphadora off of the ground, but it’s as if she’s put a Sticking Charm on herself.

“Clearly she does,” Remus says dryly.

James is frowning. Sirius has only ever seen him look this concentrated when he’s been pouring over the Animagus ritual.

“Could you maybe, just, pick her up?”

Sirius hesitates, but then reasons that he hasn’t got much choice unless he wants to camp outside of Andromeda’s house until she gets back and admit defeat.

He picks Nymphadora up.

She screams. Loudly.

To his credit, Sirius doesn’t drop her, although it’s a near thing, especially as the wailing is right in his ear like a siren going off.

“Well, this is better,” Remus says over the screaming. “Now it just looks like we’re kidnapping.”

Nymphadora is contorting her body in ways that Sirius has only ever seen illustrated in books about demonic possession. With her hands and feet pushing and kicking against him, she has arched her body as far away from him as possible. Sirius can’t see through the chaos of tiny child limbs and bright, angry-coloured flashing hair that is currently obscuring his vision to see if there is anyone else nearby, but he concludes that this does not look good to an outsider’s perspective.

“Come on, Nymphadora, let’s get you in the pushchair,” he says, as calmly as he can whilst being pummelled in the chest.

James tentatively brings the pushchair forward, a bit like he’s approaching a manticore. Sirius attempts to disentangle his cousin and put her in the seat. Remus merely stands at a distance, eyebrows raised.

“I appreciate all the help there, Moony,” Sirius says, panting slightly with the effort of strapping the still struggling toddler into the seat. 

The screaming has subsided, and Nymphadora sits defeated in her pushchair, tiny fists clenched as she glares up at them all. No one, not even Lily Evans after a spectacular prank on the Slytherins, or McGonagall after his fifth detention in as many days, has looked at Sirius like that.

“Right then, men!” Sirius says briskly, positioning himself behind the pushchair, away from Nymphadora’s accusing gaze. “To the park we go!”

::

The walk to the park from Ted and Andromeda’s house is not a long one, and yet it seems to take them an eternity to get there. Nymphadora seems intent on reaching her arms out of the pushchair to grab at whatever is passing - dandelion heads, nettles, every fence and lamppost, dogs’ tails - and Sirius, paranoid about splinters and teeth and nettle rash and Andromeda’s wrath, pauses every time to inspect Nymphadora for any damage. Remus rolls his eyes every time, but by now Sirius has realised that Remus Lupin is truly, truly awful with children. Not that he seems to dislike Nymphadora, but he’s more ambivalent about the whole child thing. Several times on the walk Sirius finds himself pointing to things that Nymphadora is reaching for, and saying in sickly, cooing tones, “Doggy, Nym. _Doggy._ Look - flower!”, whilst Remus, when he does talk to her, speaks to her like an actual adult human being.

Nymphadora shrieks excitedly when she sees the gate to the park. “Swings, swings!” she says, kicking her legs and wriggling to get free.

“Is the park secure?” Sirius asks, glancing around. “I don’t want to let her out if not.”

“We’re taking a magical two-year-old - and an Metamorphmagus at that - out for the day, and you’re worried about breaches in park security?” Remus says. “She could just levitate herself over the railings if she wanted.”

Sirius is thinking that maybe this whole thing is a bad idea, when before he can say anything Remus has bent down and is unbuckling the pushchair straps. At the last minute, Sirius remembers the special hat that Andromeda gave him, a bobble hat charmed to stay on Nymphadora’s head no matter what, to cover her hair, and he rams it on her head just as she bolts from the pushchair and runs as fast as her little legs can take her in the direction of the slide.

“She looks a bit ridiculous in a bobble hat in summer,” James says. “Do you think that it will look suspicious?”

“I think you two have very odd things to be worried about in this scenario,” Remus mutters, sitting himself down on the nearest bench and producing a book from his shoulder bag. “Someone better go after her,” he adds, idly removing the bookmark, not looking up from his page. “She’s already at the top of the slide.”

James tears after her, and Sirius gives Remus a side glance, marvelling at how unflappable he is. 

_Well_ , he amends, _for the most part_. 

In the days it’s been since they were all at Grimmauld Place, none of them have mentioned the Boggart incident in any owls or mirror-calls. The night it happened, Sirius had lain awake in bed for ages, unable to rid himself of the image of his own battered and bleeding body, but - more so than that - the look of absolute terror on Remus’ face as he’d watched it happen. Sirius has never seen Remus look so scared, and has no desire to ever see that look again. 

He had wanted to say something to Remus, and wants to still, something reassuring about “it’ll never happen, you know,” or “fears are mostly irrational; you have nothing to worry about,” but at the same time, it’s not a conversation he really feels up to having. Sirius knows that Remus has misgivings about the Animagus plan, and anything that Sirius can think of to say sounds forced or like he’s making light of something that Remus obviously cares deeply about.

At the moment, Remus looks content, the sun hitting the side of his face, one arm draped across the back of the bench as he reads. Things have been fine with them, even if they are both conspicuously not talking about the fact that Remus’ biggest fear apparently directly involves Sirius and whatever in Merlin’s name that might mean. Sirius doesn’t want to be the one to bring it up, to make things weird.

“Oi, Black, I’m getting the run around here!” James calls from across the park. “Stop staring at Moony and come give me a hand!”

Remus looks up, catches Sirius looking at him, and his cheeks flush slightly. His gaze drops down to his book again, quickly.

“You heard James,” he says. “Go help him.”

Sirius coughs, his throat oddly scratchy. The sun suddenly feels a lot brighter than it was. “Right you are. I don’t suppose you’re coming to help?”

Remus smiles, still staring at the book. “I think you’ll be just fine.”

‘Just fine’ turns out to be this:

Twenty minutes are spent on the slide, with either James or Sirius forced to climb to the top with Nymphadora to ensure she doesn’t fall off of the of the giant metal structure (”And Muggles think this is safe without Cushioning Charms?” James asks, incredulous), whilst the other waits at the bottom to catch Nymphadora as she hurtles, Bludger-like, directly at the ground. This doesn’t seem to tire Nymphadora any, although after the first ten times, Sirius develops a cramp in his leg from climbing up the slide clearly not designed for fifteen-year-old boys. 

The swings pose an even greater threat. There are two options available: one presumably for younger children, bucket-shaped, looking a lot more sturdy and with little potential for the precious cargo to go flying out. The other slide is merely a rectangle of rubber held up by chains. Nymphadora, of course, screams when Sirius attempts to put her in the baby swing, flailing her legs about so that it is almost impossible to get her legs into the holes, and so Sirius gives up and plonks her down on the other one with zero safety features. She laughs, clutching on to the chains in a vice-like grip Sirius had not thought possible for a child her age, and James pushes her from behind, his expression torn when Sirius’ demands of “Not too high, James; careful, don’t push so hard!” contrast with Nymphadora’s squeals of “More, more, ‘gain, ‘gain!”

Sirius is hovering nervously nearby, waiting to have to leap into action should his cousin go zooming off the swing at high speed, when Remus approaches him. He grins at Sirius, apparently enjoying his torment, and leans casually against the metal frame of the swing set.

“You know, even if she did fall off, accidental magic would probably kick in, and she’d probably just float to the ground.”

“For someone proclaiming ignorance about wizarding children not two hours ago, you’re acting awfully like a know-it-all now,” Sirius says, not taking his eyes off of Nymphadora.

From the corner of his eye, he sees Remus shrug one shoulder. “I remember Lily telling me that that’s what happened to her when she was little. That was her first showing of magic. Then she used to swing as high as she could and and jump so that she could fly off.”

“Evans?” James asks, turning his head to look at Remus.

“How many other Lilys do we know? Of course Lily Evans.”

James’ lapse in attention costs him; Nymphadora comes swinging back his way, shrieking in delight, and hits him square in the torso. James doubles over, and Sirius rushes over to grab the swing and slow it down, much to Nymphadora’s disgust.

“No, no, more!” she shouts, indignant in all the ways that only a toddler can be.

Before the shouting can escalate into a full-blown temper tantrum, Remus walks over to Nymphadora and reaches inside the pocket of his jacket, producing a lollipop. He hands it to Nymphadora, who stops yelling instantly.

Remus smirks at Sirius, who is gaping at him, and at James, who is still massaging his torso. 

“There,” Remus says. “Magic.”

::

A combination of the fresh air, exercise, yelling, and sugar thankfully means that Nymphadora dozes off in her pushchair five minutes after polishing off the lollipop. It’s a good thing too, Sirius thinks, as the park is starting to fill with Muggle children, screeching as they chase each other across the asphalt, fighting over the swings and spinning the roundabout so fast that Sirius feels dizzy just watching them. There’s barely an adult in sight - the closest thing is a surly looking teenager slumped on a bench flicking through a magazine who every so often shouts at a small boy called Darren to get up and brush himself off after he comes hurtling down the slide.

“Muggles are mad, it’s a wonder they’re even still alive,” James says as they maneuver the pushchair out of the park and across the uneven terrain of the field. 

There’s a group of children further up, kicking a ball to each other and shouting. Sirius watches them in interest for a while, recognising the game as football. James sees what he’s looking at, and scoffs.

“Pathetic. They call that a game? Even Evans, who hates Quidditch, told me she’s been to a few of these - football matches - with her dad. It looks boring!”

“Agree to go to a game with her one day, maybe that would get her to kiss you back,” Sirius says, and instantly feels bad for it when James gives him the wounded eyes.

“I don’t need her to kiss me back,” James mutters.

“Which is why you got so distracted by just her name, that you got taken out by a flying toddler?” Remus asks.

“Shush with your logic, Moony; James doesn’t seem to like it,” Sirius says.

James scowls. “I don’t think either of you two are in any position to lecture me on women,” he says sullenly. “Where’s Pete when you need him?”

Remus has gone suddenly quiet. Sirius senses a change of subject is in order.

“Helping out that Harrington bloke, do you remember he mentioned him?”

“Ah, the boyfriend,” James says.

They’re back on the main road leading to Andromeda and Ted’s now. Sirius cranes over the top of the pushchair to catch a glimpse of Nymphadora and sees, to his relief, that she’s still asleep. He hasn’t asked Andromeda how long Nymphadora usually naps for, but he hopes it’s a long time.

“I don’t think I could cope if my mum got a boyfriend,” Sirius continues.

“Well, yeah,” James says, “but then there’s the fact that, one, she’s married to your father, and two, has anyone in your family ever dated anyone, really? Isn’t it all betrothals and marriage pacts straight out of the womb?”

“Sometimes in the womb, actually,” Sirius says, and that finally gets a smile back on Remus’ face.

“I think Peter gets on okay with him,” Remus says. “He owled me yesterday and said he’s helping out in Harrington’s shop. Apparently Harrington is quite interesting. Anyway, it can’t hurt to keep Pete busy. Shame he’s missed this, though.”

Andromeda and Ted’s front door is in sight. Sirius quickens the pace a bit.

“Oh yeah,” James says sarcastically. “I’m sure Pete will be devastated when we tell him of all the shouting and crying and kicking he’s missed.”

Sirius parks the pushchair on the front step and reaches around to fit Ted’s key in the front door. He’s looking forward to getting inside, having a sit down, something to eat, a well deserved rest. 

At the sound of the door opening, Nymphadora’s eyes snap open, and Sirius tries very, very hard not to cry.


	51. nott's antiques.

_Mid August 1975_

In the dusty interior of Nott’s Antiques, Peter can’t hold it in any longer. Leaning over the book used to take orders and write down delivery information, he’s trying to make out someone’s truly awful handwriting, when his nose tickles. Peter winces, his eyes water, and then the unforgivable happens.

Peter sneezes.

From the back of the shop behind a pile of chairs, Mr Nott appears. Usually a slow, bow-backed man with an unsettling gait like that of a three-legged spider, it’s remarkable how quickly the man appears when germs threaten his beloved antiques.

“Boy!” he rasps. “What have I told you about sneezing?”

Peter has been helping out in the shop for nearly three weeks now, and he’s still ‘Boy’ to Mr Nott.

“It’s illegal?” Peter mumbles, trying surreptitiously to wipe his nose without alerting Mr Nott. When Peter chances to look up at him, Mr Nott’s mouth has puckered in disapproval. Peter tries again. “It’s punishable by death?”

“You’re insolent, boy. If I didn’t value your father so much…”

“Harrington is not my father, Mr Nott,” Peter says tiredly. They’ve been over this many times in the last few weeks. “I’m Peter Pettigrew, remember?”

He regrets it as soon as he says it. Mr Nott wheezes out what could be a laugh, or could very well be the sound of his shriveled soul leaving his body.

“Pettigrew,” Mr Nott says. “Bah. Weak blood there. Philomena Selwyn was a good girl, a fine girl, until that scoundrel latched on.”

“Well, she’s unlatched now!” Harrington’s voice comes, cheerily, moments before the man himself appears, climbing up the stepladder from the basement where he works on his restorations for the antiques. As usual his work robes are dirty, splattered in dust and grime. It’s a wonder Mr Nott lets him in the front of the shop at all. “A jolly fine thing too,” Harringon continues, walking to stand beside Peter behind the counter and placing one hand on his shoulder. “Teaching young Peter here about his histories, eh, Cantankerus?”

“Histories?” Mr Nott speaks as though the word leaves a bad taste in his mouth. “Not exactly a legacy to be proud of, the Pettigrews. Now, the boy’s mother’s side, the Selwyns, fine folk -”

“I suppose that means you’ll have to make the family name mean something more, won’t you, Peter?” Harrington says, smiling. He grips Peter’s shoulder tightly. “It’s never too late to make your own history.”

The bell sounds at the door of the shop and Peter looks up, glad of the distraction from this topic of conversation. 

Customers in Nott’s Antiques are rare; people usually get whatever object or piece of furniture they want delivered through the Floo service. One of Peter’s jobs is to lug whatever has been ordered downstairs in the workroom to the fireplace, usually getting covered in soot and probably damaging his spine for his troubles. 

Peter peers past the hundred-year-old vases and the numerous coat racks and cabinets to see the customer. A young man is strolling towards them, picking his way expertly through all the antiques stacked in every direction. As he gets closer, Peter recognises him. He’s been in the shop a few times, usually in Mr Nott’s office upstairs and Peter’s caught glimpses when delivering the firewhisky to them both.

When the man has stopped in front of them, Harrington leans across the counter to shake his hand. 

“Edmund,” he says warmly. “Good to see you.”

The man smiles, and in the gloom Peter sees that his teeth are very white, and there’s something cat-like about his eyes. Peter can’t stop staring at them.

“Harrington,” the man says, inclining his head. “How are things? I trust you’ve been looking after my grandfather.”

Harrington laughs. “As if your grandfather needs looking after!”

Between them, Mr Nott grunts something that might be amusement. Then he fixes his cataracty stare on the newcomer.

“Edmund, do we owe this visit to business or pleasure?”

“Why can’t it be both?” Edmund says with a wink. “Isn’t our business always mixed with a bit of pleasure?”

He reaches into his robes and pulls from the inside pocket a poster. Edmund lays it down on the counter and smooths it out so that it can be read. Emblazoned at the top, Peter reads: BURDENED WITH A MUDBLOOD NEIGHBOUR? SHARE YOUR CONCERNS AT 22 KNOCKTURN ALLEY, AUGUST 23RD, 2PM. ESTEEMED SPEAKER PRESENT!

Peter frowns down at the poster. There’s smaller print too, down near the bottom, but before he can look at it, Edmund has rolled the poster up again and is looking at Mr Nott expectantly.

“Can I put it in the shop window, Grandfather?” he asks.

“As long as it doesn’t cause any Aurors to go poking about,” Mr Nott grumbles.

Edmund grins. “Advertising, or even attending, a rally isn’t illegal, Grandfather. They can’t stop our freedom of speech. And even if it were - I’d just deny it, say I was with Mawsley here.” He guffaws, loudly; Peter jumps. “Worked a treat last time, did it not -”

“Edmund,” Harrington says loudly, “may I introduce Peter? This is Philomena’s son.”

Peter finds himself being steered out from behind the counter to stand in front of Edmund Nott. Edmund stares down at him blankly for a moment, and then that gleaming smile is back in place. He grips Peter’s hand. 

“How awfully rude of me! Pleased to make your acquaintance. Edmund Nott. I have the honour of being Mr Nott’s grandson,” he says, inclining his head towards Mr Nott.

“Peter Pettigrew,” Peter introduces himself. “Sir,” he adds, after a moment.

Edmund roars a laugh. “Sir! I like you.” He releases Peter’s hand and then regards him thoughtfully. “So you’re helping out my grandfather and Mr Mawsley, eh? Are they putting you to work?”

“Oh, no, sir - I mean, yes, but I like it. The antiques are very - interesting.”

Edmund leans against the counter, and beckons for Peter to move closer to him. 

“Do you know,” he says conspiratorially, “I never really thought so. Hours, I used to spend in this shop when I was a boy. Hiding behind the antiques, nearly breaking things and costing my dear grandfather Galleons.” He laughs, and Mr Nott grumbles some more under his breath. “My father is a Ministry man, you see, so he was always working late and I had to come here when I wasn’t at school. I was, more often than not, extremely bored.”

“Peter must have a better work ethic than you, Edmund,” Harrington says, his mustache lifting as he smiles.

Edmund bows his head. “I don’t doubt it! Are you a Hufflepuff, Peter?”

“Er, no,” Peter says. “Gryffindor, actually.”

Edmund stares at him silently for a moment. Mr Nott’s mouth twists sideways, and for a fleeting second Peter considers apologising.

“Great things, these two can do,” Edmund says, changing the subject swiftly, nodding at Harrington and Mr Nott. “My grandfather has a particular eye for antiques, and Mr Mawsley here - why, he can rework spells found in them like no other. We once had a vase - 1700s, wasn’t it, Grandfather? - a vase that had a terrible curse on it, blinded whoever touched it. Nasty. Harrington fixed it right up, and a pretty Knut it sold for too!”

“Your grandfather taught me well,” Harrington says.

“I never knew that’s what you do to the antiques!” Peter exclaims. “Thats - that’s cool!”

“A lot of it is just polishing up old furniture to sell,” Harrington says with a shrug. “There is the occasional hex or jinx to pry out of them, but mostly…”

“So modest!” Edmund says. “Now, enough shop talk - Peter, what year are you in?”

“Going in to Fifth,” Peter answers. 

“A big year, the Fifth! Will you be getting the badge for your House, do you think?”

“The badge, sir?”

“He means Prefect,” Harrington tells him.

“Oh! Oh, that.” Peter frowns. He hasn’t really thought about it; now that he has, the possibility seems unlikely. “I doubt it…”

Edmund grins. “I never got it for mine. That went to my best friend. It’s no loss, truly.”

Peter smiles back at him, feeling better.

“That reminds me,” Mr Nott growls suddenly. “I’m still holding that writing desk for Lucius; tell him to collect it sometime soon, will you, or I’m chopping it up for kindling.”

“Peter,” Harrington says, leaning down to speak in his ear. Peter tears his eyes away from the exchange between Edmund and Mr Nott. “I think we could do with getting some more Floo powder from the cupboard; we have a big delivery tomorrow. Run along and get some, won’t you?”

Peter nods reluctantly. Harrington is all right, after Peter’s gotten used to the fact that he’s seeing his mother, but Edmund is one of the first people in weeks to really speak to Peter and try to hold a conversation with him, to ask him questions. He hasn’t seen his friends all summer - Peter’s mum had made him feel so guilty when he’d expressed an interest in going to London with the three of them, or staying in Maidstone with the Potters, that Peter hasn’t bothered to ask again and resigned himself to seeing them in September back at school. He’d received an owl from Remus a couple of days ago, but reading it and about the fun that they’d all had with Sirius’ little cousin had only made Peter envious. None of them ever want to come and visit _him._

He doesn’t really want to stop listening to the conversation happening on the shop floor, but Harrington’s voice is firm and so Peter disappears into the back without argument.

The store cupboard is full of jars stacked on shelves, and Peter moves them aside as quietly as he can as he looks for what he’s after, still trying to listen to what the three men are saying. 

“…hang the poster by all means,” comes Mr Nott’s rumbling voice, “but I would prefer if you lot did a bit more ‘doing’ than just shouting at each other at those rallies.”

“Just stirring up the blood, Grandfather. Makes the ‘doing’ a lot more satisfying.”

“Well, be subtle about it, for Merlin’s sake. A penchant for the dramatics is all very well for the likes of the Malfoys, but when the Aurors start poking about in the shop, asking us questions - it’s embarrassing. If Harrington hadn’t covered for you, Edmund -”

“That was last year -”

“It was downright foolishness!”

“Let’s not rehash the past, gentlemen,” Harrington says, as Peter emerges holding the Floo powder. Harrington takes it from him and places it down on the counter. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, I think I’ll take my break now - and I’d like Peter to come too, if he can be spared.”

Mr Nott grunts, shooing them both away. Edmund is glaring at the floor, and doesn’t even look up as Harrington bids him good day and leads Peter down into the work room. 

Harrington sits on a wooden stool and gestures at Peter to do the same. He conjures a pot of tea to go on the wobbly table between them, and pours Peter a cup. Peter takes it, adding three sugar cubes, and glances at Harrington, who is stirring his own cup of tea and looking thoughtful. He’s never asked Peter to join him on a break before, and Peter can only guess that he merely wants him away from whatever argument is brewing upstairs.

“I’m afraid it’s been a bit of a dull summer for you,” Harrington says. 

Peter opens his mouth to protest, but then closes it again. Harrington’s smile is knowing.

“But you have been a help here in the shop, and I know your mother is glad that she knows where you are.”

“I didn’t exactly run wild all the other summers,” Peter mumbles.

“No,” Harrington says, stroking his mustache. “But these are uncertain times. It’s no wonder she worries as she does. She means well, does your mother. She cares very deeply for you, Peter.”

Peter shifts on his chair, and avoids answering by taking a long drink from his cup of tea.

“And I care for her,” Harrington continues. Peter chokes on his tea, and Harrington has to bang him on the back a few times before Peter finds that he can breathe properly again. Peter hopes that will be the end of that, but Harrington carries on, “I hope you don’t object to my presence in your mother’s home, Peter. Or to my being in both of your lives.”

“I - er - no, you’re all right,” Peter says, staring intently at a broken down looking old chest in the corner of the room. He can sense rather than see that Harrington is looking at him still, and he casts about for a different subject. Anything, anything at all. “So - um - how do you know Edmund then? From working for Mr Nott?”

“Sort of, yes,” Harrington says, and Peter thanks Merlin that he’s latched on to the poor and obvious switch in conversation. “I knew him in passing through my working here, but we became friends last year. I - helped him out in a spot of bother. His gratefulness bloomed into friendship.”

“What did you do for him?” Peter asks.

Harrington smiles. “Something and nothing. Anyway, it worked out very well for me, as before that I believe Mr Nott was going to fire me from my position here. Mr Nott, you may have noticed, places high importance on what sort of family you come from, and he resented me working for him. Hated having a half-blood wizard as good as me - if I do say so myself. But after I smoothed over some business with Edmund, Cantankerus viewed me in a much more favourable light. So really, everyone was happy in the end.” Harrington drains his cup and sets it down on the table. “Remember, Peter, it doesn’t matter about last names, not really - it’s your choices that define you.”

“My friend James says the same thing,” Peter says.

“Indeed. I’d like to meet James one day. You talk about him a lot. A shame he hasn’t visited you this summer. He must be very busy.”

Peter shrugs. “I guess so.”

“Friendship!” Harrington says. “Such a powerful thing. It is always best to have the right sort of connections in life, is it not?”

“Like you and Edmund,” Peter says. “Being connected to him helped your career.”

Harrington nods. “Exactly. You are a bright young man.”

Peter hides his laugh by pretending to take another drink of tea. None of his teachers at Hogwarts have ever said that to him, but he doesn’t want to tell Harrington that. But then he thinks of the Animagus potion, of the ritual and the incantation he’s been practicing most nights in his bedroom. He _is_ smart. 

Feeling bold under Harrington’s praise, Peter lowers his cup and asks, “Harrington - that poster that Edmund had -”

Harrington raises a hand, and Peter stops. He feels heat rise on his neck, and wonders if he’s pushed his luck. 

“Edmund Nott has been a good friend to me,” Harrington says firmly. “I ask that you look past the terminology you saw on that poster, Peter, and judge him by his actions as you saw today. He was friendly, was he not? Polite?”

“Yes,” Peter says, all in a rush, “I wasn’t going to - to judge him or anything. I’ve just…never seen a poster advertising something like that before.”

“We live in troubling times, Peter,” Harrington says, sounding sad. “It pains me that my friends feel pressured into having these sorts of clandestine meetings, that they cannot speak freely of their fears. I must ask you a favour, Peter. Can I have your word on something?”

“Yes,” Peter says immediately.

“I must ask that you not tell anyone about the poster, or about Edmund’s visit. As I said, he is a dear, dear friend to me, and the grandson of my employer. You understand.”

Harrington is looking at him almost beseechingly. Peter lifts his chin and nods once.

“I do. I understand.”

Harrington smiles. “Many people would not. You are a good man.” Harrington leans forward, pours Peter another cup of tea. “I had a feeling that you’re the sort who can keep a secret.”


	52. the badge.

_Late August 1975._

Lily stretches her legs out in front of her, rolls her shoulders to try to ease some of the discomfort she’s in after nearly an hour of sitting at her desk. She drops the pen she’s been holding so that she can flex her fingers and then stares at the paper upon which she’s only managed to write two words so far.

_Dear Sev,_

Lily sighs, picks up the pen and crosses out the ‘dear’. She still doesn’t have any idea how to continue on from there.

It’s not the only letter she’s been attempting to write this afternoon. Another sheet of paper has been cast to one side, this one with more crossing out than her letter to Severus.

_~~Dear James.~~ ~~James.~~ ~~Potter~~. ~~Dear Mr Arrogant Entitled Idiot.~~_

Lily scowls at the letter as if it's James himself, wondering for the hundredth time why the berk had to go and try to kiss her, for Merlin’s sake - everything was fine, and now it’s as if they’ve undone everything between them and taken giant tumbling steps backwards.

She groans aloud, cursing boys in general, and turns her attention back to the letter to Severus. 

In her head she has a multitude of different things she wants to talk to him about, things she wants to tell him and stories she’s simply dying to tell someone about, someone that understands about her family and about her life in Cokeworth. Lily takes a breath, readies her pen, and decides to just start with that.

_Severus,_

_Petunia is leaving soon to go to London. She told us over dinner the other night, she’s got it all planned out. Her and her friend Maggie are going to go to night school and attend a typing course a couple of evenings a week. Dad asked her what she was going to do in the day, and Petunia just said ‘get a job, of course’, but I don’t know if she’s really thought about what she’s going to do. Mum and Dad are worried about her, going all the way to a place like London. I mean, where is she going to live? Petunia’s never been to London apart from to take me to King’s Cross. I don’t mean to be cruel but I imagine she’ll be back within a month after leaving. She says she’s leaving in September. Mum is quite upset, I think - that’s both of us that will be gone away in less than a month._

_How are you? My mum said that she bumped into your mum in the market the other day, but your mum didn’t say hello. It’s been strange, being back in Cokeworth and not seeing you._

Lily stops, staring at the words. She’s been writing so fast that most of it is illegible anyway. She rips the paper out of her notebook and scrunches it into a ball. Severus doesn’t care about Petunia, she tells herself, why would he want to read about her going off on a silly typing course? It’s a stupid idea, writing to him. He hasn’t written to her - he hasn’t called, or stopped by, and they’ve not spoken to each other properly since January. 

“I don’t know why I’m bothering,” Lily mutters.

“Talking to yourself now, are you?” 

Lily looks up, sees her mum in the doorway holding the dirty laundry hamper. Angela smiles at her daughter.

“You look busy,” she says, nodding at all the paper on the desk. “School work, is it?”

Lily shakes her head. “No. More of a…personal project.”

“Ah. Sounds important. Shall I leave you to it?”

“No,” Lily says suddenly, as her mum turns to go. “No. Mum. Actually. Can we have a cup of tea?”

Angela laughs. “I’ll never say no to that, love. I’ll go put the kettle on.”

::

Lily ends up telling her mum all of it. Or - nearly all of it. She leaves out the part where there’s a group of people in the wizarding world who hate people like her just because she’s Muggle-born, and the fact that there’s articles in _The Daily Prophet_ every other day speculating about the chances of an all-out war in the not too distant future. 

Angela listens to it all, her cup of tea growing cold in front of her as she gazes at Lily, frowning slightly. 

“Well,” she says, when at last Lily draws breath. “It sounds to me like Severus had a bit of a crush on you, darling, and now he’s acting like most fifteen-year-old boys would if his friends were teasing him about it. Ignoring you, joining in with the jokes -”

“Sev never joined in, exactly,” Lily mumbles. “He just never…stopped it. And his friends are really mean to my friend Mary, and they bully most people -”

Her mum holds up a hand. “Well, then, love, I don’t know why you’re wasting your time worrying about him. He’s in with a bad lot, you’ve admitted as much.”

“Yeah, but -”

Her mum raises her voice slightly, speaking over her, but her tone is still gentle. “Don’t make excuses for him, Lily. Just because he isn’t the one being the bully, it doesn’t excuse that he’s allowing it to happen. He may not do it to you, love, but what really is the difference if he’s doing it to people that you care about? It doesn’t sound to me like he’s going to change his spots anytime soon, if at all.”

Lily sits back in her chair, her head whirring, her stomach lead-like. It’s what Dorcas and Mary have been saying for years, what she’s been telling herself, and yet here, in her kitchen, with her mother stating it as well, Lily feels for the first time like she’s well and truly lost one of her best friends.

“What about this James lad?” her mum prompts, her eyes twinkling.

Lily shakes her head. “We’re friends. I mean, we were anyway, until - well, you know,” she says hurriedly, looking down at the tablecloth. She doesn’t really want to repeat the bit about James Potter trying to kiss her after the Quidditch game.

“I’m sure you can be friends again,” Angela says briskly. “I’d hold off on writing to him though as well. Just see how things play out next year. It’s an important one, isn’t it, your next year?”

“O.W.L year,” Lily says, taking a sip of tea. “We get our career counselling as well. We find out what marks we need to take the N.E.W.T classes, and then that effects the jobs we can apply for.”

“You’re growing up so fast,” Angela says with a small sigh. “Sometimes I wish both you and Petunia would slow down a bit on that front.”

As she says it, the kitchen door opens and Petunia herself walks in. She glances over at the two mugs of tea, her eyes narrowing slightly.

“Oh, hello, sweetheart,” Angela says. “Do you want one? Here, sit here if you like -”

“No, thank you,” Petunia says, as their mother makes to rise from her chair. “I don’t want to intrude.”

“You weren’t intruding,” Lily says, just as Angela says, “Of course you’re not intruding, we were just talking about the important exams that Lily has coming up next year, it all sounds terribly exciting -”

“Well, forgive me if I don’t stop to listen to it all,” Petunia says stiffly. She crosses the room and opens a drawer, peering inside. “I’m just about to go to Maggie’s. I’ll take the spare keys.”

“Are you practicing your typing again?” Angela asks brightly as Petunia continues to look through the drawers, trying to find the keys.

“I won’t bore you with it. I doubt it compares much to Lily’s important exams, after all.”

“Petunia,” Angela begins, looking pained, but Petunia doesn’t let her finish.

She says a short, “Have a good evening,” and then leaves the kitchen.

In the silence that follows, Angela’s sigh sounds very loud, and very defeated. 

“Well, I suppose I made a right pigs ear of that, didn’t I?” she mumbles.

Lily can think of several ways to spring to her mother’s defence, most of which involve calling Petunia a variety of names, but she guesses that it won’t help very much. She reaches across the table and puts her hand gently on top of her mum’s. Angela smiles up at her, although her eyes look a bit watery.

Lily smiles back. “I’ll make another tea, eh?”

::

Petunia doesn’t come home until late, when their mum and dad have been in bed for at least an hour. 

Lily listens to the sound of her climbing the stairs, and then the open and close of Petunia’s bedroom door. 

Lily hesitates for a moment, debating with herself, and then finishes her letter - in the end she’d taken her mum’s advice and scrapped both letters to Severus and James. She doesn’t really know what she had hoped to achieve by writing to either boy, and had instead wrote a lengthy letter to Dorcas - and rises from her chair.

Petunia is sat at her vanity table brushing her hair when Lily appears in the doorway. Petunia glares at her in the reflection for a second, and then turns in her seat to look at her little sister.

“Get out,” she says shortly. “I’m going to bed.”

“How was the typing?” Lily asks.

“I’m ignoring you,” Petunia says, turning around again.

“And I’m ignoring you,” Lily says, striding into her sister’s room. 

“I said, get out!”

Lily sits on the bed.

“You know, I’m a bit confused about why you’re practicing typing at Maggie’s house. Isn’t that what the typing courses are for? What’s the point if you can already do it?”

“I’m practicing because I want to be better than the majority of the class when we start,” Petunia says.

Lily smiles. “Of course. How very you, Petunia.”

Petunia closes her eyes. Lily imagines that she’s counting to ten inside her head. She looks annoyed when she opens them and sees that Lily is still there.

“What do you want?” Petunia demands.

“I want you to look at me, for a start,” Lily says.

Petunia sighs, her jaw clenched, and then turns around again. Her hands folded in her lap, her ankles crossed, she would look the picture of innocence in her nightgown and with her blonde hair all brushed and shiny, if not for the fact that she’s glaring at Lily as if she can will her away just by concentrating hard enough. Lily is suddenly glad that her sister can’t do magic.

“I’m looking at you,” Petunia says irritably. “Now what?”

“You need to stop giving Mum and Dad such a hard time,” says Lily, speaking very quickly, wanting to get it all out before she loses her nerve. “It’s not their fault that I’m a witch - I mean, I suppose it is, in a way, from a genetics point - but, anyway,” she says, veering back on track, because Petunia’s eye had twitched at the word ‘witch’ and now she’s looking at Lily as if she’s lost her mind, “- anyway, my point is, you shouldn’t punish them because you’re angry at me. They’re trying to be supportive to the both of us, you know.”

Petunia snorts. 

“They’re really proud of you and this night school thing!” Lily says. “And mum is upset that you’re moving away.”

“She’ll be too busy missing you to notice I’m gone,” Petunia mutters.

“Oh, don’t be such a baby,” Lily snaps, her temper waning. “Have you heard yourself? You’re ridiculous. I’m telling you that mum will miss you, and you still manage to make this a you versus me thing. It’s not about who she’ll miss the most. She’s our mum, she’ll miss us both the same!”

“I doubt that,” Petunia says, sneering. “If you heard the way she spoke about you when you’re away at that stupid school. How excited she gets every time one of those damn birds comes with a letter from you. Four years, Lily, and still she cries on the car ride home from London when we drop you off.”

“Probably from happiness that she gets a bit of peace,” Lily says.

“Don’t make this into a joke,” Petunia says. “I don’t find it particularly funny.”

“She’ll miss you, Tuney,” Lily tries again. Petunia’s lip curls at the nickname. “You’re going in less than a month. Can we at least be nice to each other until then, if you can’t manage after? It’s going to be the last month we all live together as a family.”

Petunia frowns. “I hadn’t really thought of that,” she says at last.

Lily hadn’t either, before she’d said it. The realisation sits between them both. 

“I’m tired of fighting,” Lily says. “I’m tired of mum looking like she’ll burst into tears every time we snap at each other. I’m sorry for winding you up so much, all right?”

Petunia meets her eye at last. For a moment Lily thinks that maybe Petunia is going to apologise as well, but then she clears her throat, smoothes down the front of her nightgown, and stands up.

“Yes, well. I don’t want to upset mum any further. If you can - control yourself from putting anymore frogspawn in places, I’m sure we can last these next few weeks without causing a fuss.”

“No more frogspawn,” Lily says solemnly. “I promise.”

Petunia nods, and then, when Lily makes no effort to move, she prompts, “Lily. I still want to go to bed.”

“Right!” Lily jumps off of her sister’s bed and makes her way to to the door, pausing at the lights switch before turning it off, plunging the room into darkness. “Night, Tuney,” she says softly.

Petunia doesn’t answer, but she doesn’t shout at Lily for the nickname either. 

Once out in the corridor, Lily leans against the wall, breathes out, and allows herself a small feeling of triumph. _One step at a time_ , she thinks, and hurries to bed.

::

Lily wakes early on the day she’s to go to Diagon Alley with her parents to collect her school supplies. It’s a habit now, more like a ritual; she enjoys waiting for the owl to arrive with her list, so much so that by the time it has flown through the window, Lily is a bundle of energy imagining what exciting new things she’ll be learning about the coming year. Diagon Alley still hasn’t lost it’s charm, either; Lily doubts that it ever will.

She’s halfway through her cereal when she spots the owl in the distance through the kitchen window. She hurries to her feet, flinging open the window, and rests her elbows on the windowsill as she waits for the bird to come closer. When it does swoop in and rest on the table, causing Petunia to shriek like she has done for the past five years, Lily is so excited that she doesn’t immediately notice that the bird is carrying more things than usual.

It’s her mum that brings it to her attention. Lily has already ripped open the envelope containing the list of school books and supplies, and is scanning it eagerly, when her mum nudges her elbow.

“Lily, love? The owl has something else for you, I think.”

“What?” Lily says distractedly, but she tears her gaze away from her school list long enough to see that her mum is quite right.

There’s a small parcel in the middle of the kitchen table. When Lily picks it up, she feels something small but weighted, like a large marble, but an odd shape. Her heart beginning to beat slightly quicker, Lily unravels the brown paper, and in to her palm falls a scarlet badge with gold edges, a large ‘P’ on the front.

“What’s that?” Petunia demands at once. “What does ‘P’ mean?”

Lily just shakes her head, smiling. Her mum has realised and is smiling too, and after a moment her dad cottons on as well and he stands up, pulling Lily in to a hug.

“Oh, Lily!” her mum says. “You must be just thrilled!”

“What _is_ it?” Petunia asks, standing up with a screech of chair legs on the lino floor.

Lily meets her sister’s gaze across the table.

“I’ve been made Prefect for my House at school,” she says, and reaches across to drop the badge into her sister’s hand.

Petunia blinks down at it.

“There’s a note as well,” their dad says, when Petunia stays silent. 

Lily gestures at him to read it, and he does. 

“ _‘Dear Miss Evans, I am delighted to announce that you have been appointed Fifth Year Prefect for Gryffindor House. As Prefect, it will be your role to act in an exemplary fashion to all other students, and to be a role model befitting our great House and school. Please report to the top carriage on the Hogwarts Express on September 1st, 11.30am, to receive further instructions from the Head Boy and Girl. Many congratulations, Minerva McGonagall, Head of Gryffindor House.’_ ” 

Her dad looks up from the parchment, looking confused and proud all at the same time. “Blimey, Lils, it all sounds very organised at that school of yours!”

Petunia scoffs. “I’m surprised they even have rules at all.”

“Can I have my badge back?” Lily asks quietly.

A small vertical line appears between Petunia’s eyebrows as she frowns first at the badge, and then at Lily. Finally, when Lily has braced herself for the possibility of Petunia launching the badge at her head, Petunia sighs, her bony shoulders drooping, and she passes the badge back.

“Well done,” she says. “You’ll be - you’ll be quite good, I suppose.”

There’s a beat in which Lily beams happily at her sister, and then their mum sniffs loudly and then promptly bursts into tears.

Lily only manages a bewildered, “Mum, what -” before Angela has rushed around the table to grab both Lily and Petunia in a hug. Behind their mother’s neck, Lily swaps a confused look with Petunia, who is patting Angela on the back whilst trying to extract herself.

“Mum, please, I just pressed this blouse this morning -”

“Oh, Tuney, shush,” Lily says, gripping her sister around the waist and grinning. She catches sight of Petunia rolling her eyes, but she stops struggling to be let free, and Lily considers this one a win overall.


	53. the prefect meeting.

_September 1st 1975._

In the middle of Platform 9 and 3/4, James stands with his parents and Sirius looking out across the mass of people. He’s trying to see if he can spot Remus or Peter, but he keeps being distracted. Not only is his owl, Scout, perched on his shoulder and keeps on pecking at the arms of his glasses, but his mother keeps on fussing with the sleeves on his robes, aiming her wand at them to get the length just right. He’s grown a lot over the summer, and it wasn’t until this morning when he’d put his robes on that he’d noticed that he’d been showing a bit too much wrist.

“It’s no good,” Althea says with a sigh. “Jasper, I’ll have to go to Diagon as soon as we get home to get some more robes and owl them to James. I knew we should have picked some up when we were passing Madam Malkin’s…”

Jasper Potter, engrossed in the newspaper, nods and murmurs his agreement to his wife, although James is willing to bet his broomstick that his dad isn’t actually listening properly.

Sirius nudges him impatiently. 

“Can you see anything from all the way up there?”

James ignores him. Althea laughs, touching Sirius lightly on the shoulder.

“Don’t tease him about his growth spurt,” she says, her eyes twinkling. “I hope you’re done now though, James, darling, because I don’t fancy having to buy all new robes for the next two years because you won’t stop getting taller.”

James grins down at her, and then blinks in pretend shock as he looks at Sirius stood next to her. 

“Hello, when did you get here? Must have missed you, you being all the way down there -”

“Shove off,” Sirius mutters, and then flicks his hair back. “Don’t you know what they say about good things coming in small packages?”

“I wouldn’t shout too loudly about your small package, mate.”

“James!” Althea says, as Jasper begins to chuckle and then hastily disguises it as a cough when his wife turns to raise an eyebrow at him. He drops his gaze back down to _The Daily Prophet_.

“Hullo,” says a cheerful voice, and Peter appears from the throng, lugging his case behind him. “Who’s small package are we talking about?”

“Good to see you, Peter,” Jasper says quickly, rolling up the newspaper as Althea tuts and James and Sirius start to laugh. “We missed having you this summer.”

Peter puffs out his chest, for a moment looking as tall as James.

“I was working, Mr Potter.”

“Is that so? Good for you.”

Althea smiles. “Yes, well done, Peter. If you could talk my son and Sirius over here into having as much motivation…”

“We have plenty of motivation!” James says indignantly. 

“If not for Gigi, your room would look like a potions test lab,” Althea says, without malice. She then glances around, and up at her husband. “Speaking of, where has Gigi got to? She’s been very long putting those cases away.”

“Who’s Gigi?” Peter asks.

“The Potter’s elf,” Sirius says casually. 

He’s looking at the barrier to the platform as if waiting for someone, and misses the way Peter frowns. James notices, though, and so he’s not surprised when Peter says, almost accusingly, “I didn’t know you got a house-elf.”

James shrugs. “It didn’t really cross my mind to tell you, to be honest,” he says. He turns away from Peter in time to see Gigi scurrying back through the crowd at knee-level. “Here she is!”

Gigi comes to a halt beside Peter’s trunk, and eyes it hopefully. 

“Is this to be loaded on to the train as well, friend of Master James?”

“Oh,” Peter says. “Er -”

Sirius answers for him, waving a hand between the trunk and the elf. “Let her take it. You know it’ll make her happy.”

James nods his permission to Gigi, who latches on to Peter’s trunk as if she desires nothing else in the world than to carry it on to the train for him. As she bobs out of sight again, Sirius leans his head towards Peter.

“I let her pack everything for me last night. Made up with happiness, she was. Kind of a sweet old thing, for a house-elf.”

“You’ve been at the Potters all summer?” Peter asks.

“Pretty much, yeah,” says Sirius. “While you’ve been slaving away in a musty old shop for weeks, I’ve been having fun, thank you!”

“Look, there’s Remus,” James says quickly, because Peter has started to turn a blotchy shade of red in the neck, and he doesn’t fancy having his parents witness his two mates bickering. 

Thankfully there is Remus, weaving in and out of all the people, managing only just to not be run over by an excited First Year pushing a luggage trolley at breakneck speed. 

The arrival of Remus suitably distracts Sirius from winding Peter up any further. Like James, he’s gotten taller, and the smile on Sirius’ face dies away as quickly as it came when Remus comes to stand next to him and Sirius has to look up at him.

“Merlin, have you all been chugging Stretching Solutions?” Sirius grumbles. “At least I can count on you, eh, Pete?”

Peter tells Sirius to do something at the exact same time that the Hogwarts Express starts noisily belching out steam; thankfully, whatever choice words Peter said are lost in the din, and James’ parents continue smiling serenely at the four boys, none the wiser.

“We’ll be getting off now then, darling,” Althea says, reaching up to pat James on the cheek. “We just wanted to see you all before you boarded.”

James can’t fathom why his parents were keen to hang around the platform unnecessarily, just to see his mates - especially when Sirius has been hanging around their house for the last week or so, dropping his dirty socks everywhere for Gigi to clean up, as if he lives there - but the three of them glance down at their feet and smile, awkwardly but looking pleased all the same, when Althea hugs each of them in turn. 

She embraces Sirius last, and holds him just a bit tighter and longer than the other two. 

In the days that Sirius has been staying with them, the Potters had numerous letters from haughty looking owls with a tendency to bite. Sirius had opened the first two, his jaw tightening and his hands clenching around the edges of the parchment as soon as he’d read the first couple of lines; the third one turned out to be a Howler that Sirius had ignored until it exploded in a fury of scorch marks on the table and the shrill tones of Walburga Black echoing around the dining room. After that, anything bearing the Black seal was whisked away by James’ dad to his study, usually before Sirius made it down to breakfast.

When he’s released, Sirius’ cheeks have a definite glow about them. James glances away purposefully, directing his attention towards the mass of students boarding the train. 

He finds the chaos of this annual event comforting, hectic though it is with children shouting, parents crying, and the occasional frog leaping to freedom. Standing amid all the goings-on of Platform 9 and 3/4, James feels nearly the same as he does just before a Quidditch match, the sense that something exciting is about to happen buoying up inside him. 

Even as the thought of Quidditch crosses James’ mind, Meredith Oliphant strides across the platform towards the train. She has her broom slung over her shoulder, and she’s deep in conversation with a fellow Gryffindor Seventh Year. When she spots James, she lifts a hand in greeting and James nods back. 

Gigi has reappeared, looking disappointed that there aren’t any more trunks to be carried on the train. Jasper and Althea start to move the four of them towards the train, which has just sounded its whistle. James is thinking of leading them in the direction that Meredith has just gone, eager to talk to her about the team this year - Adric, their old Captain, graduated last year, and James wants to know if his replacement has been chosen yet - but when he looks up, he can’t see Meredith anywhere; instead, his gaze falls on Lily Evans.

Lily is hugging her mother and father, squished comfortably between them both. Stood a fraction behind this happy scene is Lily’s older sister, a look on her face as if she’s smelt something awful. Lily breaks away from her parents and turns to her sister, arms out; her sister seems for a moment as if she isn’t going to hug her sister goodbye, but then she wraps her bony looking arms around Lily’s shoulders. Lily can’t see it, but from his position James catches the look on Lily’s sister’s face change from one of grudging acceptance to one of genuine upset.

“Always looks miserable, that one,” Sirius says, looking to see where James is watching. “Sour old hag,”

“What’s her name again?” James asks, realising that after four years he really should know Lily’s sister’s name by now. He knows that she’s awful, and generally makes Lily miserable, but that’s about it.

“Petunia,” Sirius says immediately. 

James feels a twinge of jealousy that Sirius so easily knows this information about Lily’s life. Then again, he remembers, the two do have more in common when it comes to siblings than James can even begin to relate to.

“Boys, the train,” Althea says hurriedly, giving James a firm push in between the shoulder blades. 

James realises that he’s come to a complete halt on the platform; the train gives a final warning whistle and Remus shoves him in the back so that he finally moves. Even Scout offers his own encouragement, nipping James on the ear. 

Once on the train, the boys lean out of the window to say goodbye to Althea and Jasper. James promises to write often, and pretends to be offended at his mother’s demands that he stay out of trouble. James waves until the train rounds the corner and his parents disappear from sight, and then he turns to Remus with a smirk.

“So, Moony, d’you fancy seeing if there’s an empty compartment near the back, or do you have to rush off to the Prefect’s carriage already?”

Sirius guffaws as a flush spreads across Remus’ cheeks. He’s not wearing his Prefect badge, and hadn’t written to tell either James or Sirius about his new appointment. He’s kept quiet about the whole thing. James would feel hurt if he didn’t see Moony’s logic in keeping it from them: the teasing _will_ be merciless.

“Did you think you could hide it from us?” Sirius asks, nudging Remus in the side. “Obviously James and I didn’t get it, and unless you’re about to tell us that Peter got it -”

Peter throws Sirius a dark look.

“No, I got it,” Remus mutters. “I just knew you two twats would take the piss.”

“Oh, Moony,” Sirius says, laying one hand over his heart and blinking at Remus earnestly. “Only a little.”

From his back pocket Remus produces his badge. He holds it gingerly, and doesn’t look at any of them as he pins it on to the front of his jumper.

James grins, and Sirius whistles.

“Don’t you look dashing! You know, for a traitor to the Marauder cause,” Sirius says, using Althea’s nickname for them all that he’s adopted.

Remus gives him the finger, which only makes Sirius laugh more.

“I think it’s a good thing,” Peter pipes up. “Having a man on the inside and all that. Can’t hurt, right? I say well done, Moony.”

“Thanks, Peter,” Remus says quietly, although he’s still looking unsure. 

James silences Sirius with a look before he can say anything else, and then claps a hand on Remus’ shoulder. 

“Yeah. Well done, mate,” James says, earning a smile from Remus at last. “Come on, let’s go get a seat. We still have a few minutes of your company, right?” 

Remus nods, and James leads them all down the train in search of an empty compartment. They find a compartment in one of the back carriages with only one other occupant inside, a boy with wavy blonde hair, sat with his nose buried in Hogwarts: A History. He looks up when James slides the door open, and he smiles hugely at them all as if they were all old friends.

“Hello!” he says cheerfully. “Company, how nice!”

The boy snaps his book shut on his lap and gestures them all inside with a flourishing wave of his hand. James swaps an amused look at Sirius as they all sit down. 

“My name is Gilderoy,” the boy continues, when none of them say anything. “Gilderoy Lockhart.” 

He pauses here and looks at each of them in turn as if waiting for a reaction. Peter, who sat down last and got the seat next to the boy, shoots a panicked look at James as if asking if he should recognise the name. James shakes his head slightly, and Peter looks more relieved, but no less confused. Remus has arranged his expression into one of polite interest that James knows to be completely false, and Sirius isn’t even pretending to pay the boy any attention. Instead he’s turned to look out of the window.

Gilderoy clears his throat. “This is my first year at Hogwarts. I’m the only one out of my siblings to go, my sisters are terribly dull, no magic at all. My mum is a witch, and she was so pleased when I got my letter. Not surprised though; why, I’ve been levitating things since before I could crawl! I say, what Houses are you all in? Are you Seventh Years? You’re ever so tall,” he says, this last directed at James.

Sirius snorts. 

“I think I should be getting off to the Prefect’s carriage,” Remus says faintly, rising from his seat.

“Oh, are you a Prefect?” Gilderoy asks, clasping his hands together. “I just know I’m going to be one! Head Boy too. It’s really the best start to get if one is to be Minister for Magic, don’t you agree?”

Remus doesn’t answer. Sirius is still staring out of the window, and Peter is blinking at Gilderoy as if confused that he’s actually real. 

“Er,” says James, realising that his friends aren’t going to be of any help. “Remus, want us to come with you?”

“No, no,” Remus says, already with one hand on the door. “Prefects only, I’m afraid. You’d only all be bored. Stay and tell Gilderoy all about Hogwarts.”

Gilderoy gasps theatrically, as if nothing would please him more. He beams around at them all, and James groans inwardly as Remus leaves, taking with him the last hope of escape.

::

Lily is walking quickly down the length of the carriages, the occupants in the compartments all becoming a blur in her peripheral vision as she heads towards the front of the train. She isn’t taking note of anything going on around her. In her head she’s too busy cursing herself for getting too distracted by chatting to Mary and Dorcas to have realised what time it was. She hadn’t wanted to seem too over-eager and arrive at the Prefect’s meeting early, only now she’s verging on being nearly late, and that isn’t what she wants either.

A bright flash of purple and a loud accompanying bang to her left can’t be ignored, however. She’s been a Gryffindor for long enough to recognise the signs of a Filibuster’s Firework. Peeking in to the offending compartment, she sees that the laughing students can only be Second Years at the most. She should probably confiscate the fireworks, now she’s a Prefect - shouldn’t she? Only then she’ll definitely be late.

_Oh, sod it_ , she thinks, and carries on walking, quashing the nagging voice in the back of her mind that’s taunting, _Great start, Evans, letting things slide already…_

Nearing the front of the train, Lily glances reflexively down at her wrist, only to remember that she’d taken off her watch and given it to her mum before boarding. Lily sighs, hoping it’s not too far past 11.30am, and is about to step into the Prefect’s carriage when a familiar head pops out from another compartment and Lily finds herself blinking in surprise at Severus.

“Lily.” The corner of his lips start to lift, and then his gaze drops down to the front of her robes, his expression darkening as much as his eyes. Lily suddenly wants to cross her arms in front of herself, but then realises he’s staring at her Prefect badge. There’s no trace of a smile on his face now. “Of course. Congratulations.”

He thought I was here to find him. 

Lily’s face starts to heat at the thought, and she all of a sudden finds the hem of her robes extremely interesting.

“Er, yeah. Thanks. You didn’t -?”

“No,” he says curtly. “I’m here waiting for Joseph to finish.”

Lily’s heart plummets at the mention of Mulciber. That creep, Prefect? Thoughts about who the girl Prefect in their year could be for Slytherin flash through Lily’s mind, but she doesn’t give voice to them; she doesn’t really want to get into any more awkward small talk with Severus, and the answer to her questions are waiting for her in the carriage beyond anyway. 

“I should,” she says, gesturing at the door in front of her. 

She doesn’t finish her sentence, but Severus nods. He’s already retreating back into his compartment, his gaze sliding away from her. 

“Enjoy,” he says, his voice oddly emotionless. 

It’s the usual tone and dead-eyed expression he adopts when talking about his father, and Lily feels the realisation of that yank at her gut for one cruel moment before she opens the door to the Prefect carriage and steps inside.

The Prefect carriage is completely different to any other carriage on the Hogwart’s Express, and Lily blinks around at it all in some surprise. She’s never given any thought to what might be at the front of the train every year, but she didn’t think it would be much different to how the other students travel. Prefectdom, apparently, has its perks. 

There are no compartments, and instead the carriage has a long wooden table not unlike a smaller replica of the ones in the Great Hall running through the middle. Banners depicting the symbol of each House are hanging, two to a side, on the walls of the carriage, and instead of the lanterns that adorn the walls of the rest of the train, there is a chandelier above the center of the table. No need for the trolley witch to make a visit to this end of the train either, Lily sees; there is a smaller table to the side with sandwiches, pasties, cakes, and sweets laid out on top.

A couple of students are stood by the buffet, but most are sat in plum-coloured, squashy looking chairs around the table. Everyone looks up as Lily closes the door behind her, and Lily finds herself blushing for the second time in about three minutes as she realises she is, in fact, late. 

“Ah, Lily, I presume?” a girl with large wire-rimmed glasses and a smattering of freckles across her face stands up, striding towards Lily with her hand outstretched. Before Lily is quite prepared, before she can even manage more than a nod in response, her hand is being shaken quite vigorously. “I’m Sylvia Denham. Head Girl - Hufflepuff. Now that you’re here, we can finally start.”

Lily doesn’t know if she’s being scolded or not, but Sylvia returns to her seat at the top of the table without preamble, leaving Lily to find her own seat without further comment. There are a lot of faces, some familiar, some she’s only seen in passing, some she’s sure she’s never seen before in her life; thankfully she spots Remus amongst them all, an empty seat beside him, and Lily all but jogs to sit herself there.

As soon as she’s settled, he leans across to her. “Well done,” he whispers, smiling, and she feels herself relax for the first time. 

She mouths back, You too, although now she’s thinking about it, he’s the obvious choice. The thought of Peter, Sirius, or - Merlin forbid - James as Prefect is laughable. 

Sylvia waits for everyone to sit themselves down before she clears her throat and straightens her back. Behind her glasses, the expression in her eyes means all business. 

“Welcome everyone,” she says, “and for those new to the appointment of Prefect, congratulations. It’s an important job, and I hope you will all treat it as such. I’m Head Girl this year, and if you don’t already know, my co-Head is Jason Gills, Ravenclaw.”

At the other end of the table, a blonde-haired boy raises his hand in greeting, eliciting a few whoops and playful punches to the arm from his fellow Ravenclaws sat nearby. Jason grins at them briefly before turning his attention to Sylvia, nodding at her to continue. Lily can already guess who the boss is in this partnership.

Sylvia definitely takes her role seriously, and although she can see a few other students nudging each other and sharing smirks as the Head Girl goes on about responsibility and role models, Lily finds herself nodding along to what Sylvia is saying. She wants to be here, she wants to do this, it is an honour to be wearing this badge. 

“Unity is important,” Sylvia says, “Although we’re from different Houses, we all live within the same walls, we walk the same hallways as each other every day, eat under the same roof every morning and night.”

“I think I’m going to be sick,” says a voice quietly, and Lily doesn’t need to look to know that it’s Mulciber; the accompanying shiver of revulsion that runs up her spine is give-away enough for recognising him.

Sylvia doesn’t seem to hear, but Jason certainly did. He looks at Mulciber sharply, the dreamy-eyed expression he had on before vanishing. 

“Joseph Mulciber, right? You’re Slytherin’s new Prefect?”

Mulciber’s gaze is defiant. “I am.”

“So you’re new to the game. All right, we might be able to use that to let that comment slide, you being a little newbie -” a few of the older Prefects chuckle at this, and Mulciber glares, his cheeks flushing angrily. “However, Winifred told me last year that she thought you might get the badge, but she didn’t know if you’d be the best fit -”

“Winifred and I got along,” Mulciber says coolly.

“I don’t doubt it, she was a tolerant person. My point is, previous Heads always have a bit of pull over who the badges fall to, so clearly Winifred thought she saw something in you - at the moment I’m thinking she probably needed her eyes testing. Now, are you going to be a little git all year and risk losing the badge and it’s privileges, or are you going to start living up to Winifred’s expectations of you, and show some respect? Because you’ll need to give some before you earn any, Mulciber.”

Mulciber looks around at his fellow Slytherins at the table, but they look away, avoiding him. Clearly Jason holds some power and status too. Mulciber clenches his jaw; Slytherin unity is a big thing, Lily knows that much from Severus, and using Winifred Quirke against Mulciber is a pretty clever move on Jason’s part. 

“I apologise,” Mulciber says stiffly, glancing quickly at Sylvia and then away again.

Sylvia smiles serenely. “Accepted. We’re on the same side now, remember. Moving swiftly on -”

She starts to reel off a list of duties they have to perform now and meetings they must attend, but Lily is still in awe of Jason and the way he dealt with Mulciber. Her friends have teased her about being Head Girl before, but now, being Prefect, with the chance of being Head Girl suddenly that bit more accessible, Lily finds she actively wants it. One day, she might be able to have that much sway and influence. That much respect, regardless of her House or blood status. 

Sylvia and Jason dismiss them with instructions to patrol the corridors from time to time, and directions to the Prefect bathroom and meeting room in Hogwarts, with passwords for both. As Fifth Year Prefects, it’s Remus and Lily’s job after the Feast to lead the new Gryffindors to the common room, and Lily is already excited about her first duties. She leaves the Prefect carriage unable to shake the smile off her face, and walks back along the train with Remus, not even pausing to check back in on Severus on her way by.

::

James and Sirius are involved in a game of Exploding Snap when Remus appears back in the doorway of their compartment. Peter nodded off with his head resting on James’ shoulder before the snack trolley had even made the rounds. James is too busy concentrating on the card that Sirius has just placed down to realise that Remus is talking to someone else.

“Oi, Moony, get in here, would you. We finally escaped that awful Lockhart kid. Move Pete off me, would you? I can’t move my arm properly and it’s making this git win.”

“You’re not losing because Peter’s asleep on you,” Sirius says with a smug grin. “You’re losing because you are awful.”

“Chaser reflexes, my friend,” James murmurs. “They won’t fail me.”

“Funny, because they’ve failed you the last three times - how are your eyebrows, by the way? Still hanging on?”

“It’s difficult, all right, when Peter’s using you as a snuggle buddy -”

James hears a snort of laughter that does not belong to Remus. James freezes. He turns at the same moment Sirius lays down a matching card; James doesn’t claim it, so focused is he on the fact that Lily Evans is stood in the doorway; the deck explodes with a sharp bang, and through the plume of violet smoke James locks eyes with Lily. 

Lily goes bright red in a way that James has never seen before. Usually her cheeks get a fiery tint when she’s annoyed, but this is different. She looks almost annoyed at herself for laughing at him, and she looks away from him hastily.

“I better get back to Mary and Dorcas,” Lily says to Remus. “I’ll see you later though. Bye.”

“Why will she see you later?” James demands, as soon as Lily has gone from sight.

He realises far too late that Peter is still fast asleep on his shoulder, but the damage is already done. It’s not the coolest scenario he had hoped for Lily to find him in. He’d said the word _snuggle buddy_. The idea of throwing himself out of the train window is suddenly very appealing.

“She’s Gryffindor Prefect, you tit, you can stop looking at me like you want to duel me,” Remus says lightly, sitting himself next to Sirius and somehow producing a cauldron cake from his robes. 

“Evans as Prefect?” Sirius groans. “She’s going to be a nightmare, you realise. We’re doomed - oi, where did you get that cake from?”

“Ask me no questions, I’ll tell you no lies,” Remus says slyly.

“Oh, the Prefect secrets start already, you see. Here it is, James, the end of the road - our Moony is no longer a Marauder.”

Remus rolls his eyes, and then digs out more cauldron cakes, passing one to James, placing one gently on Peter’s lap, and throwing the other at Sirius’ head.

“I know you being Prefect would have it’s benefits,” Sirius says quickly.

James isn’t properly taking in a word, his cauldron cake sitting untouched in his lap. 

Lily had laughed at him. That had to mean something.

He wants to ask his friends, but realises they’d properly shove crumbs down his robes and laugh at him for a week. He says nothing, chewing on the inside of his lip; but for the whole rest of the journey, he can’t shake the thought of Lily from his mind, and realises that Sirius is quite right: he is doomed.


	54. midnight thoughts.

_September 1975._

Sirius is sat on the stone window seat of the boy’s dormitory, his knees drawn up to his chest. Although he’s gazing out at the treetops of the forest silhouetted against the night sky, Sirius has most of his attention on the door, listening, waiting.

James and Peter are asleep, Peter’s heavy breathing filling the silence, but Remus has been out on Prefect duties for the night shift, and Sirius finds that he can’t sleep. When this normally happens, Sirius will go and bother the only other occupant of the room he can count on to be awake - Peter sleeps like the dead, and even James gets cranky if he doesn’t get at least six hours, but there will usually be wandlight behind the curtain of Remus’ four-poster as he reads until the early hours. The first time that Sirius had crept across the room and softly knocked on the pillar of the bedframe, Remus had seemed surprised but had let Sirius in all the same, and now it’s become the norm, like a routine, for Sirius to be sat on Remus’ bed, and for the two of them to talk until Sirius feels like he can go back to his own bed and finally sleep.

Sirius turns his head from the window at a creaking sound, but it’s only James turning in his sleep. Sirius turns his attention back to the view from the window, at the gently swaying tops of the trees, at the near-swollen moon hanging above them, and the fat clouds scurrying past. 

He hadn’t wanted Remus to go tonight, not so close to the full moon, but Remus is dedicated to the point of ridiculous stubbornness when it comes to his role as Prefect.

To take his mind off of worrying, Sirius scans the skyline for any sign of a storm approaching, as he has done every night since returning to Hogwarts. He hates this part of the Animagus process, the waiting and the feeling powerless. There’s nothing he can do to speed up the arrival of a lightning storm, and as Peter reminded him last week - before Sirius shoved him into a suit of armour for being so unhelpful - this part could take months, even possibly years.

Another creak, and Sirius looks to the door in time to see it open and the outline of Remus in the doorway. His movements are slow as he enters the dormitory, unfastening his cloak and slinging it on the cloak-stand. Halfway across the room he notices Sirius in the window seat. The moonlight catches the smile that flickers into life on Remus’ face, banishing all traces of the tiredness that had been there moments before.

“Can’t sleep?” Remus asks knowingly.

Sirius hums, low in his throat, and then Remus is squeezing in next to him on the window seat.

“Budge over then. Blimey, it’s cold - you could have waited for me in bed, you know.”

Sirius arches an eyebrow and feels a thrill of delight at the blush that spreads across Remus’ cheeks, visible even in the half-light. Sirius doesn’t comment on how it sounds; it’s not something they talk about or mention to anyone else, the bed-sharing. It’s something that just happens. Sirius has slept next to James more times than he can count - Merlin, he’s slept _on_ James - but even that doesn’t feel the same as simply occupying the same bed space as Remus does. Maybe some things are just like that; quiet, and without need for a name or to be voiced aloud.

“How was patrol?” he asks instead.

Remus is so close that Sirius feels him shrug rather than sees it.

“Nothing eventful.”

It’s been an exhausting two weeks back at Hogwarts. Even from the first night back, there’s been a tension in the air, some shift in atmosphere. The Sorting Hat had sung about division and the need for old wounds to heal; Professor Graves had gone with no explanation from Dumbledore, which gave Sirius an uneasy feeling; she’d simply been replaced by another Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Ingleby. Remus always seemed to be on patrol or at meetings that he returned from late, a small crease between his eyebrows that tells he’s worried. The news from outside isn’t getting any brighter, that stupid skull mark being spotted in Exeter and Carlisle, and a breakout of riots in Kwizik Alley, not far from Diagon, after some sort of protest about Muggle-borns had been held there before the start of term. There’d even been rumours that people had been killed, but that may have just been that Skeeter reporter stirring things up - at least, that’s what James had told Peter, who’d been the one to read the article aloud to them all over breakfast, his voice quavering and his face ashen. Sirius can’t blame him for being shaken up; he knows Peter’s step-dad works near there.

Fifth Year is living up to its reputation. All of the teachers have been using the beginning of their lessons to drill them all on the importance of their upcoming exams, and so far the homework amount has been relentless. There’s also been Quidditch practice, with Meredith at the helm of the team now, and although she’s not quite as rabid as Adric had been about Quidditch, she’s still got them on a tight practice schedule.

Thinking of all this, Sirius gives a wry smile.

“Nothing eventful sounds nice.”

“Well. I did catch a Third Year Hufflepuff trying to sneak into the library.”

“I hope you told him a better route to go next time, to avoid being caught again.”

Remus chuckles. “Yeah, and while I was at it, I said, _‘here mate, for next time, I know a way of getting an Invisibility Cloak, it’ll make the whole thing so much easier for you.’_ You know I only use my powers for good, now.”

“Knew you’d be a great Prefect.”

“You took the piss out of me for being a Prefect, actually.”

“Of course. But it doesn’t mean I didn’t know you’d be good. You’re like that. You’ll probably end up a professor if Madame Pince never croaks it and gives up her coveted position of librarian.”

Remus is silent for so long that Sirius wonders if he’s heard, or if maybe he’s fallen asleep. But then he says, softly, “I don’t think there’s much of a market for werewolf professors.”

Sirius had meant it as a joke, and he isn’t prepared for the tone of Remus’ voice, of the disappointment creeping it at the edges of what he probably intended to be a matter-of-fact statement. Sirius feels a surge of annoyance - at himself, at the world, at Remus even - and stands up.

“Come off it. You can be whatever the fuck you want to be, all right?”

“Okay,” Remus says, sounding startled.

Sirius sighs, his anger gone in an instant. He twines a hand into his hair, gripping it tightly at the back of his head, and then lets his arm fall back down by his side.

“We should get some sleep. We’ve got double Transfiguration tomorrow, and you know McGonagall hates it when we nap in her lessons.”

Sirius crosses the room, his eyes accustomed to the gloom and the layout of the dormitory. He picks his way carefully past Peter’s half-unpacked trunk at the bottom of his bed. He stills momentarily at Remus’ bed, and wonders what Remus would do if it just climbed in. 

He glances back at Remus, still sat at the window, staring out at the moon. He thinks tonight probably isn’t the best night to try it, and climbs into his own four-poster instead, his mind swimming with what-ifs. He’s never actually spent the whole night in Remus’ bed; they’ve never fallen asleep together, and Sirius thinks of what it would be like to cross that line that he knows they’re standing on the edge of. The line is there; he’s just not certain what’s on the other side of it. He’s definitely not going to get any more sleep tonight, he decides, but he pretends to anyway, and doesn’t utter a word as he hears Remus finally get up and make his way to bed.


	55. a bad day for slytherin boys.

_October 1975._

Regulus is quickly realising that his biggest fault is that he doesn’t listen to himself when something doesn’t feel right in his gut, and now it’s led to this. Wedged in between the bar of The Three Broomsticks and a surly looking wizard, Regulus drums his fingers on the bar top and thinks again about how he should have just stayed at school. It’s the night of the Halloween Feast, and usually that’s all the socialising he can stand, but the first Hogsmeade weekend has fallen on the same day, and the excitement and the weather turning increasingly cold and bitter has driven everyone into The Three Broomsticks, into Regulus’ way, and on to his last nerve.

Even The Hog’s Head would have been better than this, he thinks, as Madam Rosmerta thrusts a tankard of ale across the bar at the wizard next to Regulus, but going there had been out of the question. Dumbledore has put a blanket ban on students going to The Hog’s Head, and although the Headmaster had offered no explanation, Regulus knows from his friends it’s because The Hog’s Head is one of the places where Jarvis Avery meets with his new friends since being expelled.

The ban on the Hog’s Head is one of many rule changes this school year. There are more teachers in Hogsmeade as well, and Regulus doesn’t think it has anything to do with them wanting a drink or two. Curfew for the younger years has been brought forward by an hour, and anyone out past their designated time has been receiving swift detentions and extra curricular activity bans rather than the usual docking of points or first warnings. All of the extra layers of supposed security at school has added to the busyness of Hogsmeade, everyone flocking for a bit of freedom, and Regulus hadn’t really stood a chance at standing his ground and saying no when Cressida had begged him to take her out to the village.

The wizard who has just got his ale squeezes past Regulus to go and find a table, muttering about “bloody Hogwarts kids”, and stepping on the hem of Regulus’ brand new robes on his way past. Regulus, who has been waiting for his round of butterbeers for at least ten minutes now, clucks his tongue on the roof of his mouth and emits a small sigh that is lost in the babble of noise that fills the bar. Rosmerta doesn’t even glance his way as she takes the next order, and Regulus is about to signal to her to hurry up or she can forget about his patronage, when she whirls around and dumps five butterbeers on the bar in front of him. He hands over his money, telling her to keep the change, and begins to make his way through the crush of bodies clamouring to be served.

Cressida had been the one to convince him to come out today - or, rather, she’d been the one to hint without an ounce of subtlety that she was sick of being cooped up and was bored out of her mind, and Regulus had been too tired to say no to her. Aegir and Evan tagged along, as they do, but Regulus doesn’t mind their company today nearly as much as Cressida does, judging from her incredulous expression when the two had joined them at the school gates. Barty is with them too, and he’s the only addition to their group that Regulus is glad of. 

The truth is, Regulus finds his friends exhausting for a multitude of reasons that Regulus doesn’t want to probe into too deeply right now. For most of the day Regulus has been attempting not to notice the way that Evan’s gaze lingers on Cressida for always a few moments more than is entirely decent, and really he wonders if maybe this development should bother him more, if it’s normal that mostly he feels nothing about it, only a yawning passivity where he thinks maybe jealousy or wounded teenage pride should reside. 

Aegir has his eyes trained on a textbook propped up against an empty tankard on the table. His studious expression is ruined by how frequently he’s rubbing his eyes, hiding a yawn with the back of his hand before slowly turning a page. Regulus is surprised Aegir even wanted to come along today; he had a detention with Ingleby last night, the result of an overheard crack about Mudbloods, and whatever the Defence professor had Aegir doing as punishment, it had kept him out until well past midnight. 

Barty is stood up behind Cressida’s chair, his hands on the back of it, leaning forward to speak to them. He laughs at something Cressida says, and he looks so happy for a moment that Regulus finds himself smiling as well. 

Aegir, Evan, and Cressida have been full of stories of what they’ve been up to at the summer - Aegir’s aunt had thrown an elaborate engagement party in which Aegir was permitted to stay up with his older cousins and drink Firewhisky; Evan’s family had whisked him away to Greece; Cressida had spent hers, when not with Regulus, flitting from various girlfriends houses and going to society parties - whereas Regulus’ summer consisted of six lonely and quite drab weeks at home. His only visitors were Bellatrix, once, briefly, accompanied by Lucius, but no Narcissa, to Regulus’ dimay; and Cressida, but her visits were always chaperoned by her house-elf, Gerta, who shrieked at Regulus and whacked him with whatever sharp object was within reach if he dared move an inch closer to Cressida than was allowed.

Barty, however. Barty, Regulus knows, had a pretty miserable summer too, being dragged along to his father’s Ministry events and garden parties. Regulus had seen him in the paper during the second week of holidays, under the caption “Crouch family raises money for St Mungo’s - Barty’s latest bid to garner favour?” in which Barty in the photo had sulked with his hands in the pockets of his robes and kept on trying to slide out of view, only to be yanked forcibly to the forefront by his father over and over again.

The fact that Barty has hated his summer holidays too has made Regulus doubly fond of him. Whenever Regulus found himself in his room and wondering what Sirius was doing - which happened with more frequency than Regulus would ever admit - he’d write a letter to Barty instead, and it was his correspondence over the six weeks that gave Regulus something to look forward to, besides returning to school. The sight of Barty laughing for once lifts his own spirits considerably.

Regulus realises that he’s come to a standstill in the middle of the pub, only he realises it a fraction too late. The butterbeer bottles, levitating in front of him and clanking together with increased fervour, go crashing to the floor as someone lurches out from the crush of bodies and directly into them. Butterbeer and glass assault Regulus’ ankles, and he turns to whatever clumsy idiot knocked into them, but before a scathing remark about their natural poise and grace can leave his lips, the person - a boy, larger than Regulus, not familiar - is looming over him, daring to look at Regulus as if he’s in the wrong in this situation.

“Watch it, Slytherin,” the boy snarls, and the way he says it makes Regulus immediately think Gryffindor but then he notices the blue and bronze pin on the lapel of his Muggle jacket.

Regulus stares at him. “Are you not going to offer to buy me a replacement? This lot cost me, you know,” he says, gesturing at the foam and glass coated floor. He takes out his wand, intending to clear up the mess, and doesn’t miss the way the boy flinches and his hand goes to his pocket. Regulus arches an eyebrow, raising his free hand in a mocking surrender. “I’m cleaning it up,” he says, deliberately slow, as if talking to a child.

The boy flushes, but whether from anger or embarrassment Regulus can’t be sure. 

“Well, that’s surprising,” he says. “Don’t you lot usually get your slaves to do that kind of thing for you?”

Regulus finishes Vanishing the mess and sighs. Instead of pocketing his wand, he keeps hold of it, the feel of it in his hand a small comfort. Normally the dig about house-elves would goad him into a speech about how Kreacher isn’t his _slave_ , but Regulus knows this boy’s type: he’s already got an opinion about Regulus, and there isn’t much point in trying to get him to think anything else.

“Usually, yes,” he says coolly, “but surely you’ve noted that I seem to be lacking in the house-elf department at present. Now, about these drinks you owe me -”

He enjoys the way the boy’s eye twitches, and wonders briefly if this is what his brother feels when annoying people.

“If you think I’m buying a little Death Eater wannabe like you a drink, you’ve got another thing coming.”

There’s a rushing in Regulus’ ears, like all the background noise has suddenly diminished and it’s just him and this boy in their own claustrophobic, cloying bubble. The boy sneers, and looks triumphant at managing to render Regulus speechless, and then Regulus feels a hand on his shoulder and the bubble bursts as everything else in the pub comes back into loud, sharp focus. Aegir and Barty are beside him, eyeing the boy with great dislike.

“Is there a problem here?” Aegir asks.

“What are you all going to do, hex me if I don’t buy you a drink?” the boy asks, scowling.

“We don’t need you to buy us a drink,” Barty says cheerfully, “although, if I could buy you some manners, I definitely would. You bumped into Regulus.”

“He was stood in the middle of the pub like an idiot. It’s his own fault.”

“No need for names, now. You wouldn’t want to go calling someone the wrong thing,” Barty says, enough emphasis on the last sentence to let Regulus know just how much he had heard.

It’s enough to give Regulus encouragement. 

“Do we know each other?” he asks the boy.

The boy actually laughs. “Of course not. Where on earth would the two of us ever have crossed paths? No, I just know enough about your sort to know what you’re about.”

“And I thought Ravenclaws were tolerant,” Aegir says lightly.

“That’s Hufflepuffs, you moron, and maybe I’m sick of being tolerant, when there’s a war on and people are dying, and you lot don’t even care -”

“What’s going on?” a new voice asks, and Regulus nearly groans aloud when he sees Lily Evans elbowing her way to the front of the crowd, her Prefect badge flashing. She glances at Regulus, and then the other boy. She frowns, a flicker of recognition on her face. “Benjy - what -?”

Before the boy can answer, someone says, “It’s nothing for you to be concerned with, Evans,” and then Joseph Mulciber is rising languidly from a nearby chair. Regulus blinks at him; the pub must be packed over capacity, where in Merlin’s name are all these sudden spectators coming from? Joseph looks like he’d merely been sat back enjoying the show, but now he’s smirking at Evans. “It’s all right. You run along and get a drink, I’ll handle this.”

“If Black is causing trouble -” Evans begins.

Joseph interrupts, smoothly, “Fenwick bumped into Black, and he’s the one who caused the argument. Not very Prefectly, is it, Evans, to cast assumptions?” Evans glares and turns red as Joseph arches a cocky eyebrow at her. “After all, you of all people can’t possibly be prejudiced towards Regulus here, just because he’s a -”

“I wasn’t being prejudiced because he’s a Slytherin,” Evans says furiously.

“I was going to say, because he’s a Black,” Joseph says, without missing a beat. He cocks his head to one side, considering Evans. “Or - are you partial to the elder Black now? I forget, you seem to change your opinion on people quite quickly - in particular, men -”

“You shut your filthy mouth, Mulciber,” Fenwick says, starting forward towards him.

Joseph smiles serenely, opening his arms as if inviting Fenwick in. “Try me, I dare you.”

“What’s going on over here?” 

Regulus doesn’t think he’s ever been more mortified. Madam Rosmerta is glaring, hands on her hips, at all of them. He hopes he isn’t about to be evicted from The Three Broomsticks - he doesn’t think he can stand the shame.

“If you lot don’t stop this silly row right now, I’ll Owl Professor Dumbledore so fast, none of you will be allowed in here either. Take your disputes out of my pub.”

“Apologies, Rosmerta,” Joseph says. “I was merely doing my Prefect duties and trying to keep the peace. Evans - I think all is settled now, wouldn’t you agree? Unless Fenwick wishes to continue this elsewhere?”

“Piss off,” Fenwick says, pushing past Mulciber and marching out of the door.

“There, all handled!” Joseph says, glancing at Rosmerta, who has retreated back behind the bar and is still glowering over in their direction. “Well done, Evans, we make a pretty good team, I hope we’re partnered together for patrol this week.”

Evans gives him a withering look and flounces off. Joseph calls after her, “Or I’ll see you at the next Slug Club!” to which she gives him the finger over her shoulder before sitting down with her friends at the back of the pub.

Joseph gives Regulus a small smile before going back to his table where he was sat with Jacob Yaxley. Barty claps Regulus on the shoulder as if it say, well, that’s that, and along with Aegir they return to Evan and Cressida. Cressida had been watching the whole scene; she grasps Regulus’ hand as he gets close to her and says, “Oh Regulus, you’re so brave!”

“I’m not,” Regulus mutters, taking his hand back.

He drops into the seat next to her, pointedly looking away from where Evan is still staring at Cressida across the table, where he’s probably been staring at her for the last half an hour.

Merlin, he wishes he had that drink.

::

“Did you hear what happened in The Three Broomsticks earlier?”

Severus tugs his Ancient Runes book closer to him, hoping the next paragraph will be interesting enough to distract him from whatever mindless drivel the girl one bookcase over has to share. 

“No, what?” another voice asks, sounding genuinely interested. 

Why anyone would, Severus cannot fathom. Don’t any of these students come to the library to study? He brings his hands up to cup against his ear, tilting his head to one side, effectively making a headrest and managing to muffle out the majority of the first girls’ story, until he hears the names “Benjy Fenwick” and “Regulus Black” in the same sentence.

“ - got into a bit of a fight,” the first girl is saying.

Severus removes his hand from his ear and sits up straighter, any attempts not to listen forgotten. Eavesdropping has never tugged at his conscience before; after all, it’s not his fault that people don’t talk quietly enough.

“A fight with Regulus Black?” the second voice sounds disbelieving. “That would be like a hippogriff getting into a scrap with a kneazle.”

“Well, that’s how Heather tells it. I can’t believe we missed it!”

“I would have loved to see Black and his creepy friends get what’s coming to them. Did you hear what Wilkes said to Natalie the other day? It’s disgusting.”

“Apparently Fenwick called them out for being supporters of - well, you know…”

Severus’ chair creaks as he leans backwards in it, moving closer to the girls behind the bookcase. They’ve dropped their voices, but Severus knows it has nothing to do with them respecting the quiet of the library.

“I’m surprised Fenwick didn’t punch him,” the second girl says, talking normally again.

“Well, he would have, but Lily Evans got involved - you know she can’t help herself.”

Severus feels his hands go cold. Lily was with Fenwick? 

“Are they dating again then?” the second girl asks, so flippantly that Severus stomach tightens itself into a knot.

“Oh, no, he’s still seeing Amber McCroy - but you know Lily, always being the hero.”

The two girls giggle, and Severus has the urge to overturn the bookcase on top of them. He rises from his char, rolling up his unfinished Ancient Runes essay and shoving it in his bag along with his books, ink, and quill, intending to find Regulus before the Halloween Feast and get the story from him. He can’t believe that Regulus would be stupid enough to admit to being in support of the Dark Lord, not in front of a pub full of people, not with his connections - but then, Fenwick has a habit of being particularly irritating -

“I heard Lily’s actually got a thing with James Potter nowadays,” one of the girls says, and Severus freezes.

“No way! She’d never go for him, they’re always arguing!”

“They were quite friendly last year. My cousin is in Gryffindor and says they kissed after the last Quidditch game and everything.”

Severus isn’t aware of dropping his bag until his inkwell rolls out and smashes on the floor. The girls stop their analysis of what this could mean and what could happen, and Severus hears their furious whispering and then quick footsteps leading away from him. He grabs his wand, clearing up the mess he’s made before Madam Pince can get to him, and then he shoves everything back in his bag and exits the library with his eyes to the floor.

 _Don’t listen to them,_ he thinks furiously, _what do they know? They’re just stupid girls - Lily wouldn’t kiss Potter._

He gives a shudder just to think of it, and by the time he’s reached the dungeons he’s imagined all the various ways that it could have happened that he practically yells the password to the common room and forces his way in before the passageway has even opened properly. Elbowing a stone wall doesn’t help matters, he discovers, and he flings himself on to a chair at the back of the common room with his stomach churning and bruises no doubt blossoming.

“Where the hell have you been?” demands a voice.

Severus doesn’t glance over as Joseph sits himself on the chair opposite.

“Jacob and I waited for you. You missed a good time in The Three Broomsticks earlier.”

“I don’t want to hear about The Three Broomsticks,” Severus snaps. “I was studying. That’s more important than all this frivolous - socialising.”

“Who spat in your cauldron?” Joseph asks, eyebrows raised. When Severus doesn’t answer, Joseph stands up again. “Suit yourself. I’m going to get ready for the Feast and some more frivolous socialising. You know, it wouldn’t kill you to have fun every once in a while, Severus.”

Severus stays in his seat as the common room gradually empties around him. The lanterns on the stone walls flicker slowly into life, and the shadows in the room lengthen. The only sound comes from the crackle of the dying fire and the occasional dull _thunk_ of something hitting the window on its lazy way past. 

On his first night at Hogwarts, Severus remembers how uneasy the noises of the lake made him. He was so used to Spinner’s End and the stifling, deathly silence, where any noise put him on edge, usually meant that his dad had come crashing home. Now, he finds the sounds of the lake and the creatures in it soothing, more familiar to him now than the sounds of Cokeworth.

It’s starting to get cold in the common room, despite the best efforts of the lanterns and the fire. With no motivation to get up and put another log in the grate, Severus decides to just go to bed. He’ll never hear the end of it tomorrow, from Joseph and the others, about what a great Feast he missed, but Severus has never really enjoyed the Feasts at Hogwarts, not for a while now. The food is great, but the food at Hogwarts is great every night, and once you’ve seen a hundred floating pumpkins and the ghosts bursting from the walls once, then you’ve really seen it all. Plus, every year, James Potter and his idiot friends pull some stupid stunt or other and lap up the laughter and praise from every dimwitted student this school has to offer, and Severus is in no mood to witness any of that tonight. Just once, he wishes a Halloween would pass where James Potter doesn’t get treated like royalty.

Severus stands up from the chair as if pulling himself out of a lake. When he turns to face the rest of the common room, he’s surprised to see that he’s not the only occupant in the common room as he had thought. He’s even more surprised to see who is sat on the sofa near the fire. Regulus has his legs drawn up to his chest, and he’s staring at a piece of parchment that is being illuminated by the dim light coming out of his wand balanced on the back of the sofa.

“Not enjoying the festivities?” Severus asks dryly.

Regulus jerks around in a flurry of limbs and parchment. Severus smirks; he’s never seen Regulus look so ungraceful. To conceal his amusement, he stoops down to pick up the parchment that has fluttered to the floor - a letter, Severus sees, his eyes caught by the cursive “Cissy” at the bottom of the page.

“Feasts give me a headache,” Regulus murmurs, sitting up in a much more dignified way. “And you’re one to talk, lurking in the shadows over there. Light a candle or something next time.”

“My apologies,” Severus says. “The next celebration that I avoid, I will be sure to put a banner up to announce it.”

Regulus eyes him warily, as if trying to decide if he has just heard Severus make a joke or not. Severus hands the letter back to to him and joins him on the sofa. 

“Your headache - anything to do with the run in you had with Fenwick earlier?”

Even in profile, Severus doesn’t miss the other boy’s eye roll.

“The gossip grapevine here is nearly as impressive as that of Pureblood society.”

Regulus clasps the letter tighter between his fingers. When he realises that Severus is still waiting for an actual answer, he sighs as if in defeat.

“Joseph had a run in. I was merely caught up in Fenwick’s irrational mood.” Regulus turns to face Severus, and frowns. “Why do you care about Fenwick anyway?”

“I don’t care about him,” Severus says quickly. “I think he’s an idiot.”

Regulus’ smile is sly and infuriatingly smug. “Ah. Because he dated Lily Evans?” Before Severus can protest, he continues, “I overheard my brother talking about it to Potter a couple of summers ago.”

“I don’t care about Lily.”

Regulus stares at him for a long time before saying, “I imagine it must be difficult.”

There’s something in Regulus’ expression that Severus hasn’t seen there before, something knowing, and Severus refuses to look at it. He stares instead at the wall behind Regulus.

“Not really,” he says shortly.

“My brother -” Regulus starts.

Severus cuts him off. “Your brother is an ass.”

“And Evans is an insufferable busybody,” Regulus says, and when Severus looks back at him, whatever openness that was in his expression moments before has now gone. The grey of his eyes has turned as steely as a shuttered gate.

Severus feels chagrined; he can’t very well probe for details about the authenticity of the rumour behind Potter and Lily sharing a kiss now. He wonders if Regulus has overheard Black and Potter discussing that particular detail.

He wants to steer the conversation into safe ground, even if it means abandoning the reason he had originally wanted to seek Regulus out. He looks down at the letter still in Regulus’ grasp.

“Is your cousin well?”

Regulus folds the parchment in half and slips it into the inner pocket of his robes. “Well enough.”

“And Lucius?”

“Lucius is Lucius,” Regulus says shortly. “He’ll always be all right.”

Severus wants to ask about Malfoy being at the anti-Muggleborn rally in Knockturn Alley in August; he had heard it from Jacob Yaxley who claims he knew someone else who attended. But his conversation with Regulus is over, he realises, as Regulus is getting to his feet. 

Severus could kick himself; here he had Regulus on his own for once, a real time to ask him about things going on in the outside world, important things - Regulus is well-connected, more so than most, at least more so than the majority of people who will give half-blood Severus Snape the time of day - and Severus had ruined it all by talking about Lily. He won’t apologise for what he said about Sirius Black though, and so Severus just nods politely in acknowledgement as Regulus bids him a curt goodnight and sweeps off into the corridor leading to the Fourth Year boy’s dormitory. 

 

::

 

_Darling Regulus,_

_Winter is such a terrible time of year. Everything is so depressing, don’t you agree? It puts one in such a morbid state of mind._

_Aunt Walburga has probably told you, but Lu and I are not to be parents after all. The Healer’s don’t seem to be holding out much hope by now - three times now, and we’re not getting younger - but Lu and Mother think the St Mungo’s lot are not to be trusted anyway and so we’re looking into hiring a so-called expert on these things. Lu is so wound up about it all; he does so long to have an heir, the Malfoy name must be protected, the family line must not die out, all that rot - and I just so desperately want a_ baby. _Forgive me for ranting to you, but Bella wouldn’t understand, and both our mother’s I think are more on the side of lineage than maternal instinct. See what I mean about depressing?_

_In other news, Lu went to one of his parties the other night - I had thought he’d calm down, especially after the escapade in August, but drama does seem to breed drama. Anyway when he came home he had Edmund in tow (boys! You never grow out of being bad influences to each other) and Edmund remembered you. He asked after you and Lu of course said you are the pride of our family, and Ed wants to see you again, and he said you can bring some friends if you want. In particular he seemed keen to meet your Barty Crouch, and I thought what about that Snape boy as well? He was ever so polite when we met that time. It would be lovely to see you all, and some youth in this place would cheer me up so. Let me know if Christmas hols suits._

_Love,_

_Cissy._


	56. versus.

_November 1975._

November’s arrival at Hogwarts brings with it icy snaps and bone-chilling bursts of wind from the Highlands, but it also heralds the beginning of something other than James having to dig out his fur-lined cloak and gloves: Quidditch.

The Gryffindors arrive back from Charms last thing on a Tuesday, with Peter still involuntarily twitching and giggling from their practice on Tickling Charms, and when they troop into the common room it’s to find a cluster of people gathered around the noticeboard, with Meredith Oliphant at the front.

She turns around at the sound of the portrait door swinging shut again, and signals to James and Sirius.

“Potter, Black, first Quidditch match has been announced - two weeks on Thursday - it’s not us.”

James sighs, dropping his bag on to the sofa near the fire and slumping down on it himself immediately after. He had been looking forward to playing their first game as a new team. Sirius goes to investigate, and comes back moments later looking disgruntled.

“Slytherin vs Ravenclaw,” he tells them all, although only James is paying any attention. Remus has tilted his head back against his chair and is massaging his temples; Peter is still giving little yelps and sporadic spasms and is far more preoccupied with that.

“Will you be going?” James asks Sirius. 

It’s always a tough one to call; on the one hand, Sirius likes to watch the other teams play, to find weakness in their strategy, but then again, him watching Regulus usually leaves him in an incredibly bad mood.

Sirius shrugs. “Maybe.”

“I won’t be,” Remus offers quietly. “Bad time of the month for it to fall on.”

Sirius glances at him. “Well, I won’t go then.”

“Don’t be silly,” Remus says, closing his eyes. “You can’t miss things just because of me all the time.”

Sirius looks set to argue but then Peter gives a high-pitched yell again, and Sirius rolls his eyes and throws his copy of _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 5_ at him.

“Merlin, Pete, look up the counter-charm already. Or go to Pomfrey if it won’t stop, you’re driving me mad.”

“I can’t help it,” Peter grumbles, his shoulder still twitching, but he opens the textbook and begins leafing through, his expression woebegone.

“You should come,” James says to Sirius. “Slytherin and Ravenclaw both have a few new players, I think, it would be good to size them up.”

“You just don’t want to be all on your own,” Sirius says loftily, putting his feet up on the sofa, his hands behind his head. “It’s no good, you know, all this attachment you have to me. What would Tabitha think?”

James’ ears start to burn. He started seeing a Gryffindor Fourth Year called Tabitha Spinks two weeks ago, and Sirius hasn’t let him live it down since. She’s a nice girl, Tabitha is, interested in Quidditch even if she does support the Montrose Magpies. Remus and Peter seem pleased for him, although Sirius had said, “You know, Tabitha’s hair almost looks red in certain lights,” before James had aimed a swift kick at him under the dining table. James has been trying not to think about Lily, and if getting a girlfriend helps in that matter, then so be it. He’s not doing anything wrong (“As long as you’re not stringing Tabitha along until something better comes along,” Remus had said to him gently, when he’d clocked James watching Lily across the Transfiguration classroom. James had felt horribly guilty and ended up Transfiguring some nettles into flowers for Tabitha the next time he saw her).

“Fine then. I’ll go with Tabitha,” James says, scowling, thinking that perhaps he should be a bit more pleased at the notion over going to a game with his girlfriend rather than his best mate. 

Peter has finally got the counter-charm right for the Tickling Charm, and his whole body relaxes, a blissful smile spreading across his face. 

“I’ll come,” he says quickly. “Should be interesting. Regulus playing against Benjy Fenwick after their row last Hogsmeade weekend.”

“You listen too much to gossip, Peter,” Remus says, glancing over at Sirius.

“It’s not gossip, it’s fact! I bet Fenwick is dying to knock Regulus off his broom. Regulus didn’t even recognise who Fenwick was. The git,” he adds. “I mean, they’ve played against each other plenty, and then he goes and acts as if Fenwick is a complete stranger - not that Fenwick is any better,” he says quickly, with a look at James. “I don’t like Fenwick either.”

“You can make up your own mind about people, Pete,” James says wearily, feeling suddenly tired. 

“I think I will give this game a miss,” Sirius says lowly. “I’m going to get an early night.”

“What about dinner?” Peter asks as Sirius stands up.

Sirius shrugs, already on his way to the staircases. “Not hungry,” he says over his shoulder.

“Well done, Peter,” Remus says with a sigh, when Sirius has disappeared from view and it’s just the three of them.

“What? What did I do?”

::

The headline the next morning is enough to put all thoughts of Quidditch, girlfriends, and inter-House politics out of James’ mind. Scout drops _The Daily Prophet_ neatly on James’ cup of pumpkin juice and then takes a piece of toast from Peter’s plate before soaring off again. 

Quite a lot of other students are subscribed to the paper as well, and all along the Gryffindor table James can see people’s brows furrowing as they read the front page, people turning to talk urgently to their neighbour, gesturing at the paper, and the usual bright morning babble is replaced by mutterings and murmurings.

Sirius has noticed it too. He turns to James, his mouth set in a line.

“Have a look then. Let us know what’s what.”

His tone doesn’t betray his emotions; he’s even still buttering his crumpet as James unrolls the paper. They’ve all become somewhat stalwart in the face of the news lately, everyone putting on matter-of-fact tones and displaying the quintessential stiff upper lip. James thinks it’s rather depressing, how they’ve come to normalise the bad news, and yet it’s only from knowing Sirius for years that he can detect the worry hidden in his face.

The front page is a scene of mayhem. A large photo dominates, depicting a street mainly obscured by a large billowing mass of smoke that hangs over the top of a group of people all running in the same direction. James watches, horribly transfixed, as again and again the people on the front page run for cover and above the smoke, the Dark Mark rises in a grotesque cycle. The headline at the top reads _ATTACK IN CENTRAL LAMBETH, MULTIPLE WOUNDED AND AT LEAST FIVE FATALITIES._ Hidden in the mound of text is a photo of a grim-faced Harold Minchum addressing the press. 

James scans the article for the key information - _the attack happened just after 8pm last night in a predominantly Muggle area…Aurors Apparated to the scene in moments after witnesses reported magic being used in the presence of Muggles...spells of a violent and destructive nature…building collapsed…at least one of the victims is believed to be an Auror…no arrests as of yet._

“Fucking hell,” James breathes.

Many people around them are quoting the article, reading bits aloud to their friends, breakfasts abandoned. 

“ _Obliviators were on the scene to modify the memories of the Muggles present, although this appears not to be a threat to the Muggle community by itself_ ,” reads Marlene McKinnon, two seats over from James. “How ridiculous. As if blowing up one of their buildings isn’t a threat to the Muggle community. Half the bloomin’ building collapsed, for Merlin’s sake.”

“It doesn’t say how many of the dead are Muggles and how many are wizards,” Peter says, looking at Richie Dennison’s copy of the paper over his shoulder.

“Lambeth,” Richie says, frowning. “I think that’s quite a Muggle-born area. Magical places hidden away, but very Muggle friendly. Am I right, Mar?”

He shares a quizzical look with Mary who is sat next to him. She nods, her face pale, and then gets up abruptly and leaves the Great Hall.

“The whole of her dad’s family live there,” Lily mutters, getting to her feet as well and following after Mary.

_Not a threat to the Muggle community by itself._ James stares at that sentence until his eyes blur. No, he thinks, just to the witches and wizards who dare to love them and want a family with them. He feels the urge to go after Lily himself, but a second later Tabitha drops into the seat next to him.

“Horrible, isn’t it,” she says softly.

James grabs her hands and squeezes, feeling how clammy his own palm is suddenly. He looks up at his friends, and sees with a start that Remus isn’t where he was two minutes ago. Sirius is staring off at something, and sure enough when James follows his gaze he sees that he’s looking at Remus, who is talking to Professor McGonagall. Other Prefects from other Houses are at the top table as well. James scans it; there’s no Dumbledore amongst the teachers. Was he even there when they went down to breakfast? James can’t remember seeing him there at all.

Remus hurries back to them. “First two lessons are cancelled. The Heads of Houses are encouraging anyone who wants to use the Floo to speak to family members to go to their offices. Everyone else, common rooms. I need to talk to the First Years, apparently. Where did Lily go?”

“To comfort Mary,” James says.

Richie stands up. “I’ll go find them both. I’ll take Mary to McGonagall, let her know she can Floo her dad.”

Remus nods. “Thanks, Richie. Sirius, do you - do you want to go to McGonagall?”

Sirius’ eyes are cold. “Why would I do that? Islington is far enough away from Lambeth, Moony, and besides, I think my family will be all right.”

“Come on,” James says loudly, getting up and pulling Sirius up with him. Remus has already looked away, his cheeks flushed. “Let’s go to the common room. Remus, get the First Years, they look terrified - Peter, Tabitha, you all right?”

A large part of him wants to go with Richie to find Lily and Mary, but he busies himself into corralling his friends back to Gryffindor Tower whilst Remus and the other Prefects see to the younger years. 

The mood in the common room is a sombre one. A few students have got there before them, so that when James and the others clamber through the portrait door, everyone already inside turns to look at them, looking terrified and hopeful somehow all at once, but when they see it’s only more students they return to talking quietly amongst themselves. Even across the room James can make out the concern in their voices.

Remus is in a far corner of the room with Sixth Year Prefects Timothy Ebbs and Sara Habib, and a cluster of First Year students. James, Tabitha, Peter, and Sirius leave him to it, and join Dorcas and Moira at the opposite side of the room. Marlene is sat with Alfie, and Meredith Oliphant. James positions himself where he can keep an eye on the portrait hole, and keeps a listen out to the talk around him.

Students have managed to get more copies of _The Daily Prophet_ from somewhere, and many are engrossed in reading that, Sirius included. 

“Barty Crouch is going to up the number of Dementors in Azkaban apparently,” he says, lip curling slightly. “Fat lot of good that does, when the wankers are evading capture. Oh, no, wait - oh, he isn’t…”

“What?” James asks.

“Minchum released a statement saying that as well as increased numbers of Dementors guarding the prison, he’ll also approve the use of Dementors in capturing the Death Eaters. And Crouch is giving the go-ahead for Aurors to use ‘more forceful spells’.”

“Unforgivables?” Peter asks, his blue eyes wide.

“Dementors in the streets?” Tabitha grabs James’ hand again. 

Dorcas looks around at them all. “Isn’t that - is that all legal?”

“ _Minister for Magic Minchum is taking a strong stance against these acts, and endorses any tactic to rid the streets of Britain of these extremists,_ ” Sirius reads. He closes the newspaper and throws it down on an empty chair. “Well, that’s that. Happy bloody Christmas.”

A heavy silence blankets the common room after that. James shifts in his seat, imagining visiting Hogsmeade or going home for the summer and seeing Dementors in Diagon Alley; the hairs on his arms prickle, and he stands up, dropping Tabitha’s hand.

“Are you all right?” she asks.

James nods. “Fine. Just - going to go for a walk.”

Sirius tilts his chin in acknowledgement, and picks up the discarded copy of the _Prophet_ again, almost like a reflex. Peter leans closer to him to read as well, and the room is once again full of mutterings. James can feel Remus staring at him as he makes his way to the portrait hole, but he doesn’t make any move to stop him from leaving. James ignores the Fat Lady’s admonishing tones as he leaves the common room and sets off down the hallway, his hands deep in his pockets.

He feels instantly better just by being out of the cloying atmosphere in Gryffindor Tower. He hates the feeling of being cooped up, the helplessness, the sitting and waiting. Even his shoes striking against the wood of the stairs as he makes his way down them is a comfort, the solid _clack clack clack_ a welcome change from the murmurings and speculation of his peers. It’s a reminder that he’s moving, that he’s doing something.

It’s only when he’s back down in the Entrance Hall does he pause. It’s deserted, and James thinks of all the times he’s waited in this empty hallway, looking out on the grounds, waiting for the sun to rise after a full moon. His shoulders are nearly as tense now as they are during those fraught pre-dawn moments, and he casts about for something to do, some action to take. Sighing, he rests his forehead against a stone pillar. He breathes out, counts to ten in his head, and when that doesn’t work, he slaps his palm against the pillar instead. The sharp sting brings with it a quick relief.

“Well, I hardly see what that poor pillar has done to you recently.”

James whips around to see Lily looking at him quizzically. 

“Er. Sorry, Evans, I was just -”

“Frustrated?” she says, tilting her head.

He nods, feeling suddenly foolish, but Lily is looking like she understands the desire to pummel inanimate objects and James thinks she probably does. Her eyes are rimmed red, and James clamps his arm down by his side to stop himself from reaching out to her.

“Why are you down here?” he asks instead.

“Richie took Mary to McGonagall, and I couldn’t face going back to Gryffindor Tower.”

“It is pretty grim,” James admits.

Lily steps closer to him, and leans against the same pillar he’s just hit. She’s close enough that James can see the smattering of freckles over the bridge of her nose, can smell her shampoo, and he’s plunged back to last year, at the Quidditch match, and Lily looking at him with pity -

He inches back a bit. Lily, thankfully, has closed her eyes and doesn’t notice.

“When do you think it will end?” she asks softly.

James almost wishes he hadn’t heard her. He doesn’t know how to answer, so he asks, “Is Mary okay?”

“Her family are safe. They answered the Floo right away.”

James notes that that doesn’t answer his question about whether or not she’s okay. Looking closely at Lily, or as closely as he can stand, James doesn’t dare ask her the same thing.

“It’s exhausting, you know,” Lily says, her eyes still closed, “being Muggle-born.”

James’ mouth goes dry. He tries to think of something to say, something comforting, or failing that simply anything at all, but he’s got nothing. 

Lily seems to read his mind.

“It’s all right. That you don’t get it. I’d rather you didn’t pretend to, to be honest. Sorry - I’m not looking for you to understand or whatever. I just need to vent to someone, and here you are.”

“Here I am,” James agrees. 

He rubs a hand across the back of his neck, thinks about apologising for the fact that it’s him here, but then decides the wise thing would probably be to stay quiet. At least then he can’t muck things up by saying the wrong thing. He stares down at the flagstones, concentrating on the mingling shades of grey and brown, and when he finally glances up again he realises with a start that Lily has opened her eyes and is staring at him.

“All right, Evans?” he says, swallowing. It comes out automatically before he can stop himself.

She makes a peculiar sound, like a half-laugh, and shakes her head. “Yeah, Potter. Yeah, I will be.”

::

They return to Gryffindor Tower together, and no more is said. Nothing really needs to be. James sits next to Sirius, Peter, and Tabitha, and Lily heads over to Remus, who is still talking to the First Years. 

Lily immediately crouches down in front of a wobbly-lipped little girl; Lily puts a hand on the girl’s shoulder, and after a moment the girl smiles, nodding at something Lily is saying. 

Tabitha is looking at him intently, has been staring at him since he climbed through the portrait hole with Lily, but when James turns his head to face her, she just smiles. Peter raises his eyebrows at him, but James ignores him. Sirius doesn’t even need to look at him; James can tell from the way he’s studiously avoiding meeting his gaze that he’s wondering what on earth James is doing.

McGonagall appears a while later, tight-lipped and pale, and announces that afternoon classes will commence after lunch. Life rumbles on.

::

The next two weeks resume much as normal - or, whatever now passes for normal. 

In the immediate days after the attack, it’s normal for students to get up suddenly in the middle of Defence Against the Dark Arts and remove themselves from the room for a while. It doesn’t deter Professor Ingleby, who continues to cover the use of Dark magic with stoic impassivity, and who never makes a fuss when students need to leave. It’s normal for younger students to seek Remus out in the evenings, and no matter how tired he is, Remus will go and sit with them, producing Chocolate Frogs from his pockets and handing them out along with worn-out smiles and comfort. It’s normal for students to brace themselves before opening the morning paper, and half the school seem to subscribe to _The Evening Prophet_ as well. It’s normal for students to have a newspaper open alongside their essays and assignments, and it’s normal to see headlines such as “ _DMLE raid house in Kent_ ”, “ _Discontent in London - protesters demand answers_ ”, “ _How far will Crouch go?_ ”

There are no arrests following the attack in Lambeth, and the final death toll stands at six. A Third Year Ravenclaw and Seventh Year Gryffindor are both sent home the very same evening, and don’t return until days after the news of their family member’s funerals are published. 

The mood in Hogwarts echoes that of the outside world. Frustration, confusion, outrage. Benjy Fenwick lands himself in detention the very next day for hexing Evan Rosier; there are no eye witnesses save for Jacob Yaxley to support Fenwick’s claim that it was self-defence. There’s rumours that the upcoming Quidditch match could be cancelled, or that Ravenclaw will have to use a replacement Seeker, but Fenwick plays nice for the remaining weeks leading up to the game, and on the day of the match, James can’t remember ever seeing a game so well-attended.

“Do you think everyone is here just wanting to see if Fenwick loses it completely and kills the whole Slytherin team?” Peter asks, as they all jostle through the stands of people to find space for them all to sit together.

“That would be a sight worth seeing,” Sirius says. “Look - there - grab those seats, Remus.”

Remus drops on to the bench, looking almost as if he’s going to fall right off. It’s the day of the full moon; usually he’d be resting in the dorm or in the Hospital Wing, and normally James would insist upon it, but with the mood of the school being what is is right now, James doesn’t relish the idea of leaving Remus alone. 

“It would probably draw more attention to me if I didn’t go,” Remus had acknowledged, and so here is is, looking deathly pale, but here nonetheless.

Sirius sits next to him. “Here, put your head on my shoulder if you like.”

Remus doesn’t need telling twice.

“At least it’s an early game,” Peter says cheerfully, producing a Ravenclaw scarf from his bag. “Plenty of time to get you to the Shack, Moony - ahh, James, why are you kicking me?”

“Because you’re an idiot,” James hisses. “Talk any louder and you may as well make Remus wear a badge. Now shut up, here come the others - Tabitha, over here!”

There’s some shuffling as Tabitha, Marlene, and Alfie all take their seats on the bench. Tabitha squeezes in next to James, and then leans across him to peer at Remus in concern.

“Remus, are you not feeling well?”

“Oh, never mind him,” Sirius says. “Completely self-inflicted. That’s what you get for hitting the Firewhisky, Remus, my friend.”

“Hey,” Remus says faintly, but can’t object any more than that as the two teams flood on to the pitch and the stands erupt in cheers and boos.

From where James is sat it looks as though Fenwick is trying to crush George Reece’s hand during the Captain handshake. At the sound of the whistle the players race into the air, and James catches sight of a golden blur for the briefest of seconds before the Snitch disappears completely from view. 

Even though he conceded to come to the game, Sirius is looking resolutely at all the other players apart from Regulus, who is flying high above both of the teams. James has noticed this tactic, the hanging back, the waiting. Regulus barely moves at all during games, and he’s rarely the first Seeker to make a move. He has a broom that can easily catch up to the other players, and James has noticed that he prefers to wait until the other Seeker has seen the Snitch before he leaves his scouting position.

“Alfie, see what he’s doing?” James says, leaning across Marlene, who huffs indignantly. “He saves all his energy for the dives - I reckon next match against Slytherin, throw in some fake sightings, throw him off a bit -”

Alfie is nodding eagerly, but Marlene puts up her hand, fingers splayed in James’ face, forming a barrier between the two boys. 

“This is a game, Potter, not a practice; and you’re not Captain. It’s up to Meredith to decide the plays.”

“I’m sure Meredith would agree with him,” Sirius says, grinning. “Why don’t you ask her, Marlene, next time you’re cosied up to her -”

“Why don’t you get back to cosying up to Remus, Black,” Marlene shoots back, but her lip twitches even as she gives Sirius the finger.

Sirius laughs outright, until Remus says, “Oh, God, stop, you’re shaking me, I hate you all,” and Sirius forces himself to be still. James sits back as well, resuming concentration on the game. 

Peter is looking at Marlene with a small frown on his face, and James is half expecting the question when he leans over and says, “Are Meredith and Marlene -?”

“Since August,” Alfie supplies for him, looking bored. “Meredith came around our house for Quidditch practice and then just didn’t leave for two weeks.”

Peter blinks, clearly digesting this. “Right,” he says. And then, after a moment, “Blimey, everyone’s coupled off at the moment, aren’t they?”

James doesn’t miss the way Peter glances at Remus and Sirius as he says this, but both of them say nothing. James wants to bang their heads together, but he feels strangely proud of Peter, usually so unobservant. At least James knows it’s not just him that’s noticed something is up with the both of them. Even Marlene’s sensed something, apparently, although teasing Sirius is her general state of being anyway. 

“The game, children,” Marlene stresses, and James nods, again looking to the pitch. 

Regulus still hasn’t moved much apart from the occasional lazy circle. He keeps his eyes trained on Fenwick, who is a much more energetic flyer, weaving in and out of the other players. Ravenclaw are thirty points up already - their Chasers have great formation, James notes - although Slytherin’s offence is relentless, and their tactics haven’t changed much since James last played them, meaning they’re downright brutal and prone to fouling the other team. 

“Bunch of bastards,” James mutters, as one of the Slytherin Beaters bashes the end of Amber McCroy’s broom, causing her to drop the Quaffle as she has to grab hold of her Comet to stop herself from swerving into another Chaser.

“Did you expect anything less than cheating?” Sirius asks lightly.

Hooch is admonishing the Beater, who smirks and shrugs, offering Amber what looks like a half-hearted apology before zooming off. Fenwick is gesturing from the other side of the pitch, and James doesn’t need the commentary to know that he’s swearing at the offending Beater.

“And Fenwick isn’t best pleased about Moyles accidentally bumping into McCroy. Hardly surprising, given that McCroy and Fenwick are an item, but I would hope that the Ravenclaw Captain could remain professional. Perhaps that’s hoping too much, however, knowing his temper…”

“Who is that?” James asks, turning to frown at the commentator’s box.

“Wilkes got the job after Dearborn graduated,” Marlene says with a sigh. “Why the teachers let any of those cretins have any sort of platform is beyond me.”

“Slughorn will have swung it,” Sirius says, jaw clenched. “Wilkes probably bribed him, let’s be honest.”

“Reece has put together a strong team this year,” Wilkes carries on. “New recruits Moyles and Worth are already showing what they’re made of, and returning Seeker Black is set to have a great year after narrowly missing out on winning in the previous season.”

“Narrowly missing out on?” Sirius scoffs. “I wish Wilkes would get his head out of my brother’s arse and stop talking rubbish.”

James doesn’t think he can stand listening to a match that sings the praises of the Slytherin team so sycophantically, but luckily Wilkes’ stream of appreciation is cut off as Fenwick suddenly leans forward on his broom, urging it on as he speeds towards the opposite side of the pitch. The majority of the crowd gasp in excitement; Tabitha grips James’ arm and goes, “Ooh!”, but it’s not the quick finish that it appears.

“Fenwick seems to have seen something, but it’s probably not the Snitch, folks - it’s more likely another innocent student that he wants to hex.”

“Wilkes! This is your last warning -”

“Sorry, Professor,” Wilkes says, but his comment has already had the desired effect; Fenwick veers up suddenly, turning his broom sharply to glare at the commentator’s box, his concentration broken. 

Regulus has moved at last, following the path that Fenwick took. Tabitha’s grip on James’ arm tightens; he hears her murmur, “Oh, no,” as Regulus hurtles determinedly towards an unmistakable glimmer of gold. 

Amber McCroy pauses in the act of passing the Quaffle and shouts, “Benjy, move!”

Fenwick gathers himself. He speeds into action once more, but his broom isn’t as fast as the one Regulus has. Both Seekers give chase, but the Snitch is in a playful mood, darting in and out of the other players. James sees the Slytherin Beaters exchange a look as the Snitch zooms between them both; Regulus passes through them both, sleek as an arrow, Fenwick just behind him, and James realises with a sickening feeling in his stomach what the Beaters are going to do before they’ve even raised their bats. 

“They’re going to club him!” Marlene shouts, getting to her feet, but it’s lost amongst the noise of the crowd.

It’s not only Marlene and James who have noticed. Liam Boot charges at the Slytherin Beaters, closely followed by Amber, and Fenwick brakes just as Moyles turns, his face red with rage as Amber knock in to him. Moyles doesn’t lift his bat, but he does cock his arm and elbow Amber sharply in the face. 

James doesn’t know where to look. On one half of the pitch, Regulus has seized the Snitch, and the Slytherin quarter of the stadium erupts into cheers, but the rest of the crowd stare, transfixed, as Fenwick pulls his wand from his robes and blasts Moyles off of his broom. 

The blast of Hooch’s whistle mingles with Wilkes’ tirade of abuse aimed at Fenwick. Hooch manages to slow Moyles’ fall before he hits the ground, and then she’s angrily gesturing at Fenwick to land as well. Fenwick shakes his head, still hovering mid-air with his arm around Amber’s shoulder, who is trying to wipe her bloody nose with the hem of her robes. 

Above them all, Regulus holds the Snitch, his look of triumph and elation rapidly turning to confusion as he surveys the scene.

“Poor sod,” Sirius says, shaking his head. “He finally wins and no one cares.”

“Let’s get out of here,” Marlene says, standing up and tugging Alfie up with her. “It looks like the Ravenclaws and the Slytherins are about to destroy each other.”

She’s right. Even before she’s finished saying it, Professor Flitwick has rushed to the Ravenclaw portion of the stands and is ordering them to be calm. James can hear a few students shouting at him, and he’s shocked: he’s never heard anyone argue with mild-mannered Flitwick before. Slughorn is down on the pitch, leading the Slytherin team back to the changing rooms whilst keeping an eye on the Ravenclaw team who have finally all landed. Fenwick is resolutely shaking his head at whatever Hooch is saying, and it’s only when McGonagall descends on to the pitch to speak to him does he leave to follow her, his hands clenched and his broom discarded on the ground. Amber’s nose is fixed in an instant, and the rest of the Ravenclaw team are led to their changing rooms by a steely-eyed Madam Hooch.

As they’re leaving, James glances at the commentator’s box and even from a distance he can see Wilkes smirking. He feels the overwhelming urge to hit something, and then feels Sirius’ hand on his shoulder, urging him forward.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Sirius says, sounding tired. James is surprised at him for being so reasonable, but when he looks over his shoulder he sees that Sirius is still propping Remus up. “Let’s just get back to Gryffindor Tower, yeah?”

Peter and Tabitha are looking worriedly at Remus; Alfie is wide-eyed, looking tiny in the throng of people; it’s only Marlene that doesn’t look nervous, but then James sees how she’s holding Alfie close to her. James takes a breath, all thoughts of bashing Wilkes’ head in gone. Now is not the time. Now, his friends need him to have a level-head.

“Yeah,” he says, and he leads them all back.

::

The rumour that spreads is that Fenwick gets a weeks worth of detentions and has to sit the next match out; Moyles just gets a night scrubbing suits of armour with Filch; and Wilkes is banned from commentating. Ravenclaw suffer a hefty loss of points when Liam Boot and Amber McCroy’s actions are taken into account as well, and when James walks past the sapphire-filled hourglass on his way back from leaving Remus with Madam Pomfrey that evening, he can’t help but feel a pang of sympathy. His annoyance grows when he sees that there’s still a substantial amount of emeralds in the Slytherin hourglass.

He bangs the door to the dormitory open, making Pete jump from where he’s sat by the window. Sirius is lying on his bed, staring at the canopy with a dark look on his face. James sighs inwardly, sensing that it’s going to be a long night. Sirius rarely sleeps on full moon nights anyway, especially when something has happened to rile him, and the events of the Quidditch match have riled pretty much everyone.

Peter returns to staring out of the window. James sits on the edge of his bed, picking up the first book he gets his hands on, a battered copy of _Quidditch Through the Ages_. He rifles through to a random page and stares at it, determined to get lost in the words and forget about the truly awful fortnight the last two weeks have been.

“Hey,” Peter says. “Hey, James. Sirius.”

Sirius grunts in reply, but James wishes that Peter would realise neither of them really want to talk right now.

“Guys. Look.”

“What, Peter?” James snaps.

Peter blinks at him. It’s not often James is the one who snaps. Peter looks haughty, and turns back to the window. 

“I’ve got something that might cheer you two up,” he mumbles.

“What?” James says again, but in the distance there’s a familiar sound just before the unmistakable sound of rain hitting the windowpane. 

Sirius hears it too. Hurriedly, he sits up and then immediately stills, poised for something. He lifts his head. James feels every muscle in his body tighten. In the reflection of the window James sees the slow smile spread across Peter’s face. All three of them wait. 

When the thunder rumbles again, followed by a flash of lightning, James leaps to his feet in such excitement that he flings the book across the room. Sirius jumps up as well, bounding across the room to the window. He leans past Peter, throwing the window open. Sirius sticks his head out, letting the rain splash on his face, and he laughs right into the storm.


	57. wormtail, padfoot, prongs.

_November 1975._

In years to come, Peter will struggle to remember most of it, to pinpoint exactly how it felt. Some details will be lost in the blur of adrenaline. 

He’ll recall the sense of excitement rising within him with every crash of thunder, and he’ll vaguely remember Sirius’ laugh in his ear, and James rushing up to grab him around the neck, his breath hot on Peter’s ear as he says, over and over, “This is it, this is it.” 

He’ll forget Sirius leaping around, punching the air, and James trying to shush him but having that ridiculous grin plastered on his face as he tried to organise them both. He’ll forget rushing out of Gryffindor Tower, all three of them crouched under the Cloak, him still in his pyjamas, and the way the wet grass by the greenhouses felt under his bare feet.

He’ll conveniently forget the panic coursing through him. He’ll chose not to remember his hands shaking so much that he nearly spills his vial of potion, and that he stuttered over the final incantation.

James and Sirius, huddled on either side of him, their wand tips aglow as they point it to their chests, over their hearts: this is what Peter will remember until the day he dies. 

::

Sirius doesn’t hesitate when drinking the potion. The thunder cracks overheard, shaking the greenhouses they’re stood by, and Sirius just grins. He lifts a toast to Remus, and swallows it in one.

::

The first thing James feels after swallowing the blood red potion is someone casting Fiendfyre on his nerve endings, pain coursing up his spine, pain _everywhere_. He doubles over, his glasses slipping from his nose. Through the searing in his eyes he manages to see the shapes of Sirius moving further away from him, and he remembers: they have to make room for the transformation.

He has time to wonder what he’ll be, how much room he’ll need; he wonders for one heart-stuttering moment if the pain is related to how big an animal you’re going to be, and if it is, then he’s got to be a killer whale, or elephant at least.

Peter has moved away as well, and it’s just James and the pain. The pain, which seems never ending, until suddenly, it does. James moves a shaky hand, feeling grass beneath his palm. When did he get to the floor? He pushes himself up on his elbows, looking around for his friends, for his glasses - then his eyes burn again, his vision blurs even more than it already has, and the scenery in front of him shifts. 

Whiteness descends like snowfall, and he’s no longer by the greenhouses in the Hogwarts grounds, but in a clearing, leaves scattered on the ground, tall trees all around him. From a cluster of trees James hears movement like - like hooves, he thinks, looking wildly around, and then the stag moves forward into the clearing and stares at him, unblinking and knowing. 

James stares back, and as their eyes meet, he feels in his chest a second rhythm start up. Months ago, when James heard the second heartbeat for the first time, it had been a dizzying, nauseating experience, like palpitations. Now, when it begins again, it finally makes sense, and James welcomes it like an old friend.

::

When the sun rises, Remus makes the journey from The Willow to Hogwarts Entrance Hall alone, for the first time in years. Usually someone meets him, either in The Shack, or hanging around a safe distance from the limbs of the tree, or lounging on the steps in the hallway. There’s always someone there. 

This morning, there’s not. Through the soreness and aching in his joints and his head, Remus allows himself to feel a bit miffed. The grass is wet - it must have rained after he transformed, he thinks - and he stumbles once or twice walking up an incline without anyone to help him up. In recent months he’s even told Madam Pomfrey that he doesn’t need her help, and he doesn’t - he’s used to it all now, and he’s old enough to do this by himself, but it still stings, his friends not being there. 

He makes his way slowly up the staircases to Gryffindor Tower, and even though he stops several times on the way up, he’s still breathless by the time he says the password to The Fat Lady. She clucks her tongue at him, and the portrait swings open. Thankfully there’s no one in the common room and he climbs the stairs to his dormitory in peace, thinking that perhaps if he has enough energy he’ll make as much noise as possible and wake his friends up. 

Remus never gets a chance to act out his plan. As soon as he opens the door, something scurries across his feet. He makes a strangled noise in his throat, looking down in time to see a long pink tail whipping under his bed. Before he can look up, he hears a bone-shaking woof and then he’s being pinned to the door by something large and hairy. 

“What the -” he starts, but gets no further, as the animal - a bear, Remus thinks, but then remembers the barking - starts to lick him. 

“Ugh, gerroff me,” he says, but has no strength to fight the dog off. 

Without any other option, Remus sinks to the floor, the dog still jumping all over him, fur everywhere, absurd tongue lolling out. Remus starts to laugh, and the dog pauses, cocking his head to one side quizzically. Remus laughs harder, his whole body shaking, and then reaches forward with the last of his strength to grab the dog around the huge neck and pull him close.

“Sirius, how are you still ridiculous as an Animagus?” he asks. 

If Remus’ eyes are wet, he hides it by pressing his face closer against the dog’s neck.

The dog twitches, then shakes, and Remus has time to realise what’s happening in time to let the dog go before it becomes Sirius. Sirius is on the floor in front of him, practically on his lap, his face extremely close to Remus’, and - Remus glances down, then up extremely quickly - he’s not wearing anything. 

“This is a reversal in circumstance,” Sirius says, managing a chuckle. His cheeks are glowing as he reaches for the nearest bedcover and throws it over himself. “How did you guess it was me?”

“It couldn’t have been anyone else,” Remus says, standing up and then pulling Sirius up as well in his makeshift toga. “So. Will you always lose your clothes?”

“We have to take them off beforehand. It’s all very pagan,” Sirius answers, somehow still managing to look dignified as he looks around for some trousers.

Remus laughs. Then, he remembers the animal scurrying across his feet. He bends down to look under the bed and sees beady eyes staring back, whiskers twitching. The rat starts to chitter excitedly. 

“Is that…?”

“Peter,” Sirius says, grinning. “He likes to hide. I reckon it’ll come in handy.”

“And James?” Remus asks, scanning the dormitory, half expecting an eagle or something to be perched on the top of the wardrobes. 

“Ah. Well, James was a bit big. And Peter’s form is still not quite used to him.”

“Oh, God, he is an eagle, isn’t he,” Remus says, thinking about how they’d explain to Mrs Pettigrew if her son was killed by his best friend.

“What? No. None of us can fly, sadly. James is in the bathroom. Come see.”

Sirius has mercifully put on clothes now, and Remus finds he can concentrate a bit better. He follows Sirius to the bathroom, his mind racing. Is he about to find the bathtub full and James splashing about in it, he wonders, and then remembers Sirius said he was big. _He could be a big trout, I suppose_ , Remus reasons, and then Sirius flings open the bathroom door and Remus thinks, _oh. Of course._

“Hi, James,” Remus says softly, as the stag skitters back a fraction, his front leg raised as if he’s about to bolt. 

The stag huffs and then lowers his head. Remus can’t stop staring at his antlers. It’s all very majestic until the stag attempts to walk forward and he loses his balance, his front legs buckling. He almost hits the tiled floor in a heap but manages to right himself, and stands up again, spindly legs awkward as anything Remus has ever seen. 

Remus leans against the doorframe, trying to take the last ten minutes in. He feels this is a lot to happen and digest just an hour after sunrise. 

“You did it,” he says. “I can’t believe it. I mean, I can, because it’s you lot - but all those years, all your hard work, and you bloody _did it_. Peter’s hiding under the bed and James is a stag - a really clumsy stag - and you - you bloody ridiculous animal.”

“Nothing’s changed there, then,” Sirius says, smirking. “Are you pleased, Moony?”

“Pleased?” Remus’ throat feels suspiciously tight; he tries to mask it with a scoff. “Of course I’m pleased.” 

A thought then comes to him. He looks at Sirius, and smiles slowly. 

“Now all you need is nicknames.”


	58. the time for giving.

_December 1975_

“Moony, Christmas is practically here. What do you want?”

“It’s three weeks away, Sirius.”

“Shush. What do you want?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Surprise me.”

“Really?”

“You’ll get me something that bites, won’t you? Don’t surprise me.”

::

“Moooony. What do you want for Christmas?”

“I’ve told you before. You shouldn’t waste money on me.”

“Technically it’s my parents money -”

“Not helping, Sirius.”

::

“Come on, I’ve got James and Peter all sorted. What do you want?”

“Why not just get me a book? There’s a reason it’s a traditional Lupin present, you know.”

“Books? Pah. You’d live in the library if we let you. No, I can think of something better.”

“Stop asking me then!”

::

“Remus, I -”

“Sirius, it’s four in the morning and I’m trying to sleep, I swear you won’t make it to Christmas if you keep this up!”

::

Remus has always felt uncomfortable receiving gifts. The customary book from his parents, the occasional lumpy jumper, all fine, but anything more lavish and Remus feels himself begin to sweat and work himself into a money-induced hysteria. It’s all very well for James and Sirius, who have Galleons to burn (and disgraced though he may be, Sirius can still walk into Gringotts, state his name, and walk out again with a small fortune, no questions asked); but the idea of that much money being thrown away on trivial things makes Remus’ skin feel too tight. 

James and Sirius don’t get it, they probably just think he’s being polite or awkward, and Remus thinks that maybe Peter understands, a bit - although since Mrs Pettigrew started seeing Harrington, Peter has a bit more pocket money to waste during the school year, Remus has noticed - but the idea of large amounts of money has always been inconceivable to Remus, whose mother still talks about food stamps and whose father has had to fight to keep his job before now. The concept of a steady income is a dream Remus yearns for; there’s no Gringotts inheritance for him to fall back on.

And so, the next time they’re in Hogsmeade, two days before the Christmas holidays, and Sirius points out a collection of notebooks bound in dragonhide, adorned with golden lettering, and an accompanying quill and ink pot, and says, innocently enough, “How about that for your Christmas present?”, Remus flips.

“What part of ‘don’t get me anything’ is giving you trouble?”

“I can’t not give you anything, you plonker!” Sirius says adamantly.

He gives Remus a sideways look like he’s said something deeply offensive. Remus hates that, hates that he’s always made to feel like the unreasonable one in times like these. Remus stares again at the notebook and feels a thudding in his temples start up.

“You can get me something,” he says quietly, “but why does it have to cost a fortune?”

Sirius blinks slowly, and then reaches out to flip the price tag around. The way he smiles after drives Remus insane; he sees, fleetingly, the amount of numbers on the tag, and it’s nothing to smile about.

“It’s not a fortune, it’s only -”

“Stop. Whatever number you’re about to say is probably more than I’d spend on you, James, Peter, and my entire family combined.”

Sirius shoves his hands deep into his robe pockets. “Is that what this is about?” he asks, tilting his chin almost defiantly. “It’s not a competition, Moony. It’s Christmas.”

People in the shop are starting to look at them. Remus’ face is hot. He grabs Sirius by the forearm and tugs him away from where the notebooks are displayed. 

“You’re making a scene,” he says.

“You’re making a scene!” Sirius says loudly. Remus wants, in that instance, to hit him, very hard on the jaw. “I’m only trying to do something nice and you’re acting stupid.”

There’s a pounding in Remus’ ears. For a moment all he can do is stare, stare at this boy who he finds so enchanting and delightful and essential, and yet so bloody infuriating. Sirius honestly doesn’t understand what the problem is, Remus knows. He’s looking at Remus, grey eyes accusatory and hurt. It’s madness, Remus thinks, that Sirius doesn’t know, doesn’t understand the problem, and it prickles Remus in a needling sort of way, this stark difference between them, and yet Remus knows that Sirius would give Remus the night sky if he could. He’d give him anything at all and wouldn’t ask for anything in return, because stubborn and blinded and dense as he is, Sirius is above all unfailingly kind and generous to those he cares about. Remus knows all this with a certainty he’s never had before, and it’s startling, breathtaking, almost, to be cared about with such an unflinching fervour. Remus started Hogwarts unsure that anyone would want to befriend a poor, halfblood werewolf, and here is is now four years later with a best friend who can transform into an animal, for him, who went through years of hard work and dedication, for him, for Remus. 

Remus squints at Sirius the same way someone would look at the sun. Sirius is rocking on the balls of his feet, and there’s a flush on his pale cheeks. Remus has an ache in his chest so powerful that for a moment it feels like he can’t breathe. 

He finds his voice at last, and says, instead of all that, “Are you thick?”

Sirius scowls, his mouth drawing into a pout. “Well, sod you then. You can get coal for all I care.”

A laugh bubbles up in Remus’ throat but he holds it back. He masks the smile threatening on his lips by swiping a hand across his face. Sirius raises an eyebrow, knowing that he’s said something that Remus finds funny, but in that moment Peter bounds up to the pair of them.

“What are you two bickering about?” he asks unconcernedly. 

“Nothing,” Remus says, silencing Sirius with a glare.

Sirius rolls his eyes and walks off to where James’ hair can be seen sticking up like a beacon.

Peter looks curiously at Remus, but doesn’t press the matter. Instead he says, “Fancy a butterbeer then?” and Remus nods, eternally grateful that his feelings for the rest of his friends are not as confusing.

::

Sirius waits until he sees Remus exit the shop with Peter in tow before he doubles back to look again at the notebook. James follows a pace behind him, and the two stand next to each other, Sirius frowning at the notebook and James frowning at Sirius.

“Gift for Remus?” James asks.

Sirius doesn’t bother to ask how James knew. Instead he shrugs, one-shouldered. 

“I wanted to. But he’s got all prissy and offended for some reason.”

“He just wants you to be sensible with your money.”

“Stop being mature, it’s off-putting,” Sirius mutters.

A slight smile flits over James. “I do apologise. In that case, buy him the whole damn shop. Send him 10,000 red balloons, and a care package with ribbons on it, and cookies with “I love Remus” iced on them.”

If Sirius’ heart trips at the sentence “I love Remus”, it’s only for a moment. His palms feel cold and hot all at once so he balls his fists up and sticks them in his pockets. Sirius can’t tell if James is joking or not. Sirius avoids looking at him, but still he can tell his best friend is looking at him at length, waiting for a reaction.

“Now you’re being ridiculous,” Sirius says slowly. “Remus doesn’t even like cookies.”

“Ahuh,” James says, and Sirius hates the way he can say so much without even using real words. “What are you getting Peter?”

Sirius still doesn’t look at him. “The usual. Some stuff from Zonko’s. Which, by the way, he loves, so it’s a perfectly great present just as much,” Sirius says, all in a rush.

He can hear the smirk in James’ voice. “I wasn’t saying anything, mate. Stuff from Zonko’s is a great gift for a friend. Anyway,” he goes on, his tone much different, “Mum has written to me and asked what you want for Christmas dinner, turkey or chicken?”

“Turkey,” Sirius says at once.

“Ever the traditionalist.”

“Maybe I’ll ask for venison,” Sirius says, looking up at James at last.

James flips him the finger. “You’re not funny.”

“Can I paint your nose red the next time you transform into Prongs?” Sirius asks, warming to this new topic of conversation. “Hang some lights around your antlers.”

“Only if you want a rolled up newspaper in your face.”

Sirius laughs, the knot in his chest loosening. He feels suddenly foolish for getting worked up about a Christmas present and it’s implications. It must be the holiday jitters, he decides. The Christmas period is upon them and although Sirius has an invite to the Potters again, it doesn’t ease the worry about what his family will say or how they will react. They haven’t replied to the letter he sent them a week ago, and he doesn’t know whether to be pleased about this or worried. Two days, is what he keeps telling himself. Two days and he’ll be in Maidstone stuffed full on Althea’s cooking with his friends, and with the whole Christmas break for them all to explore the forest near James’ house and to practice their transformations. 

He and James start walking out of the shop, and Sirius doesn’t spare another thought for the notebook, his mind already on their next adventure.

::

Peter and Remus secure a table by the window at The Three Broomsticks, and Remus cups his hands around his butterbeer and stares down at the foam for a long time. Peter fiddles with the drink mat on the table, flipping it over in his fingers, and then leans two mats against each other to make a triangle.

Remus glances up but still doesn’t say anything, and Peter doesn’t want to pry too much. He’s learnt by now that people are more likely to talk if you just give them a chance to, and if you just listen rather than bombarded with questions all the time. He lines up another two mats next to the first two in a small row, and then starts to balance another two mats on top of them to make a small tower. His father used to do this with playing cards, and would drive his mother mad by taking up the whole of the dining table with his towers. His dad always had a pack of Muggle playing cards on him, and could do Muggle magic tricks that would delight Peter but make his mother scoff. 

“Why bother with that when you’ve got the real thing?” she would ask, as Richard Pettigrew would shuffle the deck and fan them out in front of her, inviting her to choose one.

“Half the fun is in the illusion, the trickery,” Richard would answer, waving the cards at her impatiently. “Go on, pick a card.”

Peter smiles now at the memory. He was never able to master how his father did it, but what Peter was even more fascinated with was coin tricks. He liked how his father could make people think the coin was in his left hand, or in his pocket, when in fact it had never left his right hand in the first place. _Misdirection,_ he remembers his father telling him. 

“You’re good at that,” Remus says now, nodding at the tower Peter has built.

Peter shrugs. “It’s easier with drink mats and Muggle cards. Wizard ones tend to blow your nose off.”

Remus smiles. “My mum taught me loads of Muggle card games. I used to play for hours in my room when I was little and my parents wouldn’t want me to play out with the other children.”

“I’d say we should teach James and Sirius,” Peter says, “but they’d probably only be sad that nothing was exploding.”

Remus nods, taking a long sip of his drink. “I think those two will always need something to explode. Between you and me, we’re much more sensible wanting to keep all our limbs in one piece.”

Usually Peter would resent being lumped into the ‘sensible’ category - sensible smacks of safe, of boring - but it feels nice and nostalgic, being grouped in something with Remus. 

It’s always been a bit of them vs Sirius and James, right from the beginning. James and Sirius leap into danger and adventure headfirst, and Remus and Peter are the look-outs and the cover-ups. Lately, Peter knows that something is shifting. He’s seen the glow of wand light from Remus’ bed in the early hours of the morning, the silhouettes of Remus and Sirius outlined against the curtain as they talk to each other in hushed voices. James can’t be threatened by this, Peter knows - James is Sirius’ brother, James is the one who leads them all and looks after Remus and looks out for Sirius - and James has a confidence that makes it hard for Peter to believe that James could ever be threatened by anything new changing these dynamics. Peter, though - Peter worries. James and Sirius are best friends, and something is happening with Sirius and Remus - and Peter isn’t sure where that quite leaves him within the group. 

Remus smiles at him now though, and even though he isn’t telling Peter everything about his feelings and about what’s going on with him right now, Peter thinks maybe it doesn’t matter. He’s here with Peter now, not James. Not even Sirius. Peter thinks that maybe all it will take is time, and Remus might open up to him.

Peter raises his own glass and clinks it against Remus’.

“To being the sensible ones, then.”

::

On the morning that they are all due to leave Hogwarts for the Christmas holidays, it snows heavily. Big flurrying flakes whirl down from the white sky above them, and Remus winds his scarf around his neck for the third time in as many minutes as the wind howls and tugs at the ends of it. He feels like the weather is trying to blind him, or strangle him, and he keeps his head down as he hurries on to the train with Peter, James, and Sirius.

“I hope it snows like this at home,” Sirius says, slumping into the window seat and looking out at the rest of the students filing on to the train. 

He has snow melting on his shoulders and in his hair, his cheeks flushed red. Remus turns away from him to glance up at the sky.

“It probably won’t be quite like this,” he says.

“Spoilsport,” James teases, who has taken off his glasses and is wiping them on the hem of his jumper. “I hope it does. The forest near mine is great when it snows.”

“I can picture the scene now,” Remus murmurs. “A stag prancing elegantly in the snow - oh, wait, sorry, I mean, a stag slipping on all the ice, and a dog eating all the yellow snow, and a rat getting lost in the snowdrifts.”

Sirius rolls his eyes at him, and then stands up, taking something from the inside pocket of his coat and transferring it into his suitcase on the luggage rack above their heads. Remus, who has just taken out his book, looks up in time to see the shape of the something - it’s something wrapped in brown paper, something rectangular.

“What’s that?” he asks sharply. 

“What?” Sirius says, sitting back down. 

“You just put something in your case,” Remus says, his voice sounding clipped and cold even to his own ears.

“Yeah. It was nothing. Just a present for somebody.”

Remus narrows his eyes at him. Sirius stares back.

“It looked like a notebook,” Remus says at last.

The last of the students are on the train, and the whistle sounds. The engines start to rumble, the floor vibrating as the Hogwarts Express spurts into life, but despite the noise their compartment has gone quiet. 

Peter stands up. “I’m going to find the trolley and get a drink,” he says, unnecessarily loud.

James doesn’t say anything but hurries after him. The compartment door slides shut with a definitive click. Remus crosses his arms over his chest and then glares up at Sirius’ suitcase.

“Get it out, then.”

“And they say romance is dead -” Sirius mutters.

“Don’t, Sirius,” Remus snaps, and Sirius falls silent at once. “Don’t make this a joke. I told you not to get me that notebook.”

“You’re a bit full of yourself!” Sirius says, flaring up. “It’s not for you, all right? It’s a present, and it’s notebook shaped, but it’s not what you think.”

“Show me then. You slipped off early this morning, you had enough time to get to Hogsmeade and back -”

“And you think I’d go to all that effort for you, do you?”

Remus pauses. Sirius’ eyes have gone cold, but Remus has started this now. His heart has started hammering in his chest.

“Just show me then,” he says again, wishing he could come up with something cutting to say back and instead hating how he just sounds whiny.

“For Merlin’s sake - I can’t believe you - I mean, actually, I can, because you can never just be happy, can you, Remus? It’s Christmas, and someone wants to get you a present, so you have to make it something awful and sinister instead of just something people do for each other.”

As he says all this, Sirius has stood up and is unzipping his case with force. He shoves one hand in, producing the package, and throws it down on Remus’ lap. It’s light, and definitely a notebook, Remus decides, although he doesn’t feel vindicated about being right. He stares down at it, one hand on the brown wrapping. He splays his hand out on the top to hide the fact his hand is trembling slightly with anger and embarrassment.

“Open it, then,” Sirius says, sitting back down and glaring out of the window.

“I don’t want to,” Remus says quietly.

Sirius turns to look at him, his lip curling. Remus has seen him look at other people like this numerous time, and his gut twists unpleasantly. He never thought Sirius would look at him in this way.

“No. You don’t get to start this and then back out. Open it.”

Remus opens the present quickly, wanting to get it over with. It is a notebook, he sees, but it’s not the notebook they had been arguing about before. Instead of the luxurious dragonhide notebook from the shop, it’s a simpler one. Still lovely, Remus decides, with an envelope wrap front cover, and when he opens it he’s surprised to see the pages are lined - paper, not parchment. He flips it over, and on the back in the bottom right hand corner are the initials _RJL_ printed in neat script.

“This - this isn’t the notebook,” Remus says stupidly.

“No,” Sirius says, his expression unreadable. “It’s a different one. A Muggle one - cheaper, in case you’re wondering. Muggle things often are.”

“Where did you even -?”

“You were right about one thing. I did sneak off to Hogsmeade this morning. There’s a little Muggle knick-knack shop that’s opened up there, quite brilliant, really, with the climate recently - but I saw it there the day we had that stupid fight, and ordered you one, and collected it today. Are you happy now?”

_Not remotely,_ Remus thinks.

“Sirius,” he croaks. “I -”

“Save it,” Sirius sighs. “I can’t be bothered to row again.”

“I don’t want to row,” Remus says quietly. He’s still holding the book in his lap. He glances down at it and feels like he’s been doused in cold water. “It’s a - it’s a lovely present.”

Sirius’ smile is small and weary. “I know. I’m good at these things.”

“I’m an idiot,” Remus says.

“Not denying that,” Sirius agrees, “but let’s not get all melancholy, eh? It’s Christmas.” 

Remus can’t work out his mood. He must be mad, he knows, but most of all Sirius just seems - exhausted, defeated. Remus’ insides squirm. Sirius looks out of the window and doesn’t say anything else. 

In time Peter and James come back, but by then Remus has hidden the notebook away in his own case. Neither of the other two say anything about the present, but they can’t miss the fact that Remus and Sirius barely exchange more than three words to each other for the rest of the journey. James looks at Remus with a curious expression once or twice, but Remus can’t bring himself to look at him properly because he knows that James most likely knows what the gift actually was, and Remus doesn’t think he can cope with James’ disappointment as well.

It’s one of the longest journeys back to London that Remus thinks he’s ever experienced. When at last the train pulls into Platform 9 and 3/4, it’s the first time that Remus wishes he was going back home instead of to the Potters. James and Peter get up first and start pulling down their cases, James talking enough for all of them. James leaves the compartment first, Peter close behind him, and Sirius is about to follow as well when Remus gathers all of his wilted courage and grabs for his hand before he can get to the door. 

Sirius is a bit out of reach, so all Remus ends up doing is linking their little fingers together, but it’s enough for Sirius to look back at him. He stares at Remus, then down at their entwined fingers, and then up at Remus again. One eyebrow raises slightly.

“I’m sorry,” Remus says, all in a rush. “I’m sorry and it’s a lovely gift, and so thoughtful - and I’m just - I’m sorry, all right? Let’s not fight.”

He gives Sirius’ hand - or rather, his finger - a squeeze, trying to convey everything in that one little gesture, but Remus is heart-slammingly aware that his hand is clammy and sweaty and Sirius probably just wants him to stop touching him. 

Sirius doesn’t tell him to let go. Instead they just stand there, and Remus is sure that Sirius can probably hear the pounding in his chest, but Sirius doesn’t make a joke or tell him his hands are gross and sweaty. Sirius smiles. 

“No fighting,” he says. “There’s enough of it in the world, right?”

“Yes,” Remus says, a sudden overwhelming dizziness in his head. 

He lets go of Sirius’ finger, his arm dropping to his side. He’s probably imagining the tingling in his hand.

Sirius winks at him fleetingly, says, “All I’m saying is, Lupin, your present to me better be pretty bloody spectacular,” and then he darts out of the door after Peter and James.

Alone in the compartment, Remus laughs. He flexes the hand that had held Sirius’, and then realises he probably looks like a madman and stops. 

Remus follows his friends, finally feeling in the holiday spirit.


	59. for the future.

_Christmas Day 1975_

Severus sits on the bed in the guest bedroom of Malfoy Manor - one of eight guest bedrooms, to be exact; the huge house is full of spare rooms, as well as one that Severus glimpsed at the end of a grand hallway when Narcissa gave him the tour last night, a room that was closed and had a sad, shut-off feel to it, something melancholy that Severus couldn’t put his finger on, and it was the only room that Narcissa did not deign to show off to him - and he takes a deep, steadying breath.

He and Regulus had arrived in Wiltshire via Floo last night after a brief stop-over at Grimmauld Place. Severus knows which residence he prefers so far. Grimmauld Place had been dark, almost overbearing in its musty grandness and its secretive shadows, with sneering portraits and dead-eyed, soulful looking house-elf heads on the walls. Malfoy Manor is bright, airy, and save for the room at the end of the hall, all the rooms are open as if on show, nothing shut-off here. Narcissa Malfoy has a lovely home, and it’s clearly one she wants people to see and admire. Friendlier though this is obviously designed to be, it also means that there’s not a lot of places for Severus to hide.

He prefers Malfoy Manor, and he much prefers Narcissa as a host - he had met Mrs Black the night before, after a ride down to London on a train packed with Muggles, and then a bewildering journey across the city until Severus had found himself stood outside a row of tall townhouses; he had been shivering in the cold for a good fifteen minutes, looking confusedly between numbers 10 and 11, until Regulus had suddenly appeared as if from nowhere and waved him inside number 12 that had appeared just as abruptly before his very eyes.

Regulus had introduced him to his mother as “my friend Severus, his mother is Eileen Prince,” and Severus didn’t question why his last name was left off this introduction. Mrs Black had held out a pale, thin hand for Severus to shake lightly; the handshake hadn’t lasted long, and she withdrew her hand whilst looking over him with cold grey eyes. 

The room he’d stayed in that night had been cold as well, and whenever he looked in the mirror a voice had said, “Fuss with your appearance as much as you like, boy; doesn’t change the fact that I can see your blood is as pure as mud.” In the end Severus had flung the only blanket over the mirror and spent the night shivering on the bed under the thin duvet, trying to keep warm, until he’d been awoken early in the morning by an aged house-elf creeping into the room; it had avoided looking directly at him and had been muttering things about as pleasant as the mirror had. All in all, it had not been a very welcoming stay.

Despite being a great deal friendlier, there is still something overwhelming about Malfoy Manor. The bed that Severus is sat on the edge of now is large, soft, softer than any bed Severus thinks he has ever sat on or ever will sit on again. The gold-framed mirror on the wall does not insult him, and the only pictures on the walls show a coiffed-looking blonde lady in Tudor dress who smiles at him from behind a hand-held fan, and a landscape portrait of the rolling English countryside. It’s all a lot more comforting than the house-elf heads, and yet there’s still something that probes at Severus’ ribs, a niggling reminder of _you do not belong here_ even if nothing says it outright. It’s all in the subtleties here; the way that Regulus breezes through the grand rooms at ease, and Severus trails after him, stiff and unsure, uncertain if he is allowed to touch things or sit in certain places, unaware of which piece of cutlery to start with at breakfast - and what kind of breakfast has more than one course anyway? - or how to hold his china teacup when drinking. 

If breakfast had been awkward enough for him, Severus is downright dreading the Christmas luncheon. Narcissa has invited a lot of people, and Severus recognises a lot of the names from books he has read about wizarding genealogy in the Slytherin common room, and he doesn’t need to ask to know that he’s the only half-blood in attendance. He can’t hide behind who his mother is forever; after all, it’s not her name that Severus is stuck with, and his last name makes him stick out like a sore thumb in these types of situations, more so than his lack of knowledge about dinnertime etiquette or his worn-looking dress robes. 

_Blood as pure as mud_ , a voice echoes in his head. _Everyone can see it._

Severus can hear the murmurings downstairs of guests starting to arrive; new voices and the doorbell chiming and the whoosh of the Floo. Narcissa’s voice is bright, distinguishable in its tone, and although Severus can’t hear what she’s saying he imagines her ushering the guests into the parlour, one jewel-studded hand gesturing the way, whilst her other hand offloads her guests’ coats and hats on to the nervous, eager-to-please elf that Severus had caught sight of the night before. 

He can’t hide up here forever, he knows. Sooner or later someone will come looking for him - not Lucius, who doesn’t seem the slightest bit bothered or even aware that there are two teenage boys in his home; and not Narcissa, busy as she is being the hostess. It will most likely be Regulus, and then Severus will have to explain to him why he’s been lurking around upstairs on his own for the past twenty minutes when he’d only excused himself to wash his hands. Severus doesn’t think that Regulus will understand his discomfort, and Severus isn’t keen to further highlight their differences by letting Regulus in on the fact that he even feels any discomfort anyway. 

No, he decides, standing up, feeling much like a man about to go to battle. Or what he imagines a man about to go to battle feels like. No, this is something he is going to have to face.

Severus walks out of the bedroom and on to the upper landing; peering over the bannister to the downstairs entranceway he can see the top of people’s heads as they move from the front door to where Narcissa is gathering everyone before lunch. Severus creeps down the staircase slowly, hoping he can avoid everyone, but as per his luck, just as Severus has reached the bottom step, Regulus comes out of a room clutching a tray of food.

“Did you get lost?” Regulus says knowingly. “Cissa’s house is beastly if you’re not used to it.”

Severus nods once. “Yes. Lost, trying to find the bathroom. Got there in the end.”

“Good, good. As long as you didn’t go in that end room - that’s _the nursery_ , Cissa would probably hex you blind. Anyway, come along, Bella’s just turned up and she’s simply intolerable until she has a few canapes in her.”

::

If Christmas lunch is a battle, then the questioning that Severus has to endure is certainly the attack.

They hadn’t even started on the proper meal - first of all there was a shrimp and crayfish cocktail, and then a tomato and basil soup, and then finally Lucius had clapped his hands and summoned the turkey for the main course - and yet Regulus’ cousin Bellatrix had already asked Severus everything from where he lived, what O.W.L’s he was taking, what N.E.W.T’s he aspired to, to his interest in politics, and of course, his family.

It’s the subject of his family that she seems to have particular difficulty with.

“Your father,” she says, twirling her knife idly in one hand whilst waiting for her plate of turkey to be passed to her, “is a Muggle.”

“Yes,” Severus says, eyes on his own plate. He feels he has been very clear on this matter, and yet the woman won’t let it drop.

“Regulus,” Bellatrix says in a carrying voice, although Regulus is only sat two seats away from her, on the other side of Severus. “Your little friend here has a Muggle father.”

“I am aware, Bella,” Regulus says politely. 

The blonde man opposite him passes him a plate with turkey on it, and Regulus murmurs his thanks. Bellatrix stiffens in her chair. 

“Your friend is a Muggle!” she says.

“Bella -” Regulus says, but the blonde man intervenes. 

“I’d change that pesky name if I were you, Severus,” he says. Severus tries to remember the man’s own name - they have been introduced, but then, he’s been introduced to a lot of people today. “Snape. Snape. No weight at all there. Now, Prince - a proud lineage, wouldn’t you agree, Bella?”

Bellatrix scoffs. “Proud isn’t much use if it gets snuffed out. Forgotten about. Poof. Gone.” 

She moves her hands in front of her dramatically, miming a puff of smoke, her eyes widening. Severus flinches, feeling his cheeks flushing, and then finally meets her gaze - her dark eyes hold his for a moment, and then she laughs, falling back on her chair with a raucous laugh that causes Narcissa, sitting at the end of the table, to shoot her a disapproving look.

“She’s just playing with you,” the blonde man advises Severus, reaching for the gravy boat. “I’d take no notice. None of us do, apart from Dolph, but then he’s under the obligations of matrimony.”

Severus looks uncertainly at Regulus, who shrugs as if agreeing and then turns his attention back to his food.

“You better not be talking politics down there,” Narcissa calls. “I mean it, Bella - not at Christmas.”

“My lips are sealed, sister dearest,” Bella says. 

She blows a kiss to Narcissa, who rolls her eyes but smiles before turning back to her conversation with Lucius.

“Narcissa ruins all the fun,” the blonde man says with a good-natured grin. “Alas, she is the host, so what can we do?”

“Oh, don’t mind her, Edmund,” Regulus says eagerly. “Talk about politics if you want. Severus here - he understands. He’s sympathetic to the cause.”

The blonde man - Nott, Severus remembers, Edmund Nott - smiles indulgently. 

“Is that so?” he says, turning his peculiar coloured eyes on to Severus.

Regulus is looking at him as well, and Severus doesn’t need to look to know that Bellatrix is staring at him too, far more intensely than either of the other two. He nods. 

“The Dark Lord - I have been reading - his policies, his ideals - they cannot be questioned.”

“Anyone would be a fool who would question them!” Bellatrix says hotly.

Edmund holds out a hand to silence her, but keeps his eyes on Severus.

“You don’t strike me as a fool, Severus Snape,” he says. 

“That’s because I’m not one.”

Edmund laughs softly. “Jolly good.” Then, his voice louder, “Not bad for a Muggle, eh, Bellatrix?”

“His words speak to all manner of people. Anyone who wants to serve - He is forgiving of those who are worthy.”

Bellatrix’s face is flushed, and her words have an excited tinge to them. Severus stays silent, replaying her words in his mind. He is forgiving. Maybe it wouldn’t matter about who his father is, what his last name is - he has a chance here, he realises; he may not be exactly the same, he doesn’t come from the same place - but maybe, just maybe, if they’re going in the same direction, that won’t matter.

“You say you’ve been reading,” Edmund says conversationally, passing Severus a tureen of buttered carrots. “Which literature, may I ask?”

“ _The Continued Rise of the Knights of Walpurgis_ ,” Severus says. Beside him, Regulus is looking at him with a small smile on his face, and Severus feels as if he’s passed some sort of test. Perhaps the test is to engage in conversation with Bellatrix and make it out alive. “A few pamphlets. _The Enslavement of the Mighty_ , _Struggles of the Pure_ -”

“Oh, I wrote that one,” Edmund says brightly. “You see, this is what I love, hearing that my work has reached young people like you. That’s what it’s all about, after all - the future generations.”

“Can you take us to a rally?” Regulus asks. “Please, Edmund - Severus is nearly sixteen, and I’m gong into Fourth Year. Aegir and Evan have both been to one, and even Barty tried to sneak out to one but you know his father is insufferable - I wouldn’t even need to sneak. I’d be invited in, surely. I’m a Black!”

Edmund’s smile vanishes. “Sadly, the rallies are few and far between now. The government is - less than understanding. The Aurors make things difficult, so pig-headed the ones who make these silly laws are - tell your friend Barty I’d love to have five minutes alone with his dear father - and of course the Aurors just follow orders blindly, never an original thought in their heads. Not to mention the dreadful vigilante types that have started to sprout up like weeds -”

“Edmund,” Bellatrix croons. “It’s starting to sound an awful lot like you are doubting our Lord’s power - but that can’t be right, can it?”

“Of course not, Bella,” Edmund says with an impatient wave of the hand. “I simply lament all the obstacles in our way now. Obstacles that shall be overcome, and yet it means that the education for the youngsters - it’s all on hold. Why, it’s no longer safe to go and air your views in public anymore! It’s criminal. Stamping out freedom of speech.”

“Disgusting,” a heavy-seat man next to Edmund agrees around a mouthful of turkey. “The naysayers and those that stand against us should be eradicated along with the Muggle filth they love to protect so much. They love them so much they fight their fellow wizard - it makes my skin crawl. The only upside is that they seem perfectly willing to die for the Mudblood scum, and I’m more than happy to oblige.”

Bellatrix’s smile is wide. “I’ll drink to that, Rabastan.”

Narcissa stands up abruptly at the end of the table. She glares down at their part of the table - Severus isn’t sure how much she’s heard, but he’s certain it would not be Narcissa-approved dinnertime conversation. Then, she claps her hands and the plates vanish. Severus had been so engrossed in the conversation going on around him that he’d barely made a dent in his turkey, but no one is about to argue with Narcissa.

“Now,” she says shrilly, her nostrils flaring; her eyes narrow again in their direction, briefly. “Enough talk. Time for cake!”

::

“Your cousin is quite something.”

“Quite something,” Regulus agrees.

He’s in his charcoal grey pyjamas - monogrammed, Severus notes with a smirk when he first notices - and is brushing his hair whilst looking into the mirror. The mirror in his bedroom doesn’t shout insults. Severus would bet it probably gives out compliments to anyone with Black blood. Severus himself is sat on the edge of the bed, unwilling to go to his own bedroom across the hall. That would only speed up the going home process. He’s going back to Cokeworth tomorrow, back to Spinner’s End, back to sit out the last week of the Christmas holidays before school starts again. There’s nothing waiting for him there besides a fug of smoke in the living room, encircling the armchair where his father sits, day in, day out, smoking cigarette after cigarette, slurring at the television set. Severus’ mother hasn’t sent him a Christmas card or greeting of any kind since he’s been gone, and Severus hasn’t owled her either. There’s only one person in the whole of crumbling, ashy Cokeworth that Severus cares about, and Lily doesn’t care about him. He wonders if Potter got her a present this year. He’s heard that he’s dating some Gryffindor younger year, but he doubts that would stop James Potter in his harassment of Lily.

“You’ve got a sour look on your face,” Regulus says, putting the comb down on the bureau and giving his reflection one last look before he goes to his case and starts putting in the last of his clothes, the robes he wore today.

“Perhaps I ate too much,” Severus replies. “Stomach ache.”

“Cissa probably has a potion for it. I could Summon the elf -”

“No, no. Don’t worry.” 

Severus gets to his feet and crosses the room to the large window overlooking the garden. Down below are fountains and more greenery than Severus has ever seen in someone’s back garden. Narcissa had told him that they keep peacocks, but Severus hasn’t seen any whilst he’s been here. He imagines a group of peacocks in a luxury stable, wearing fur-lined coats against the winter cold, and has to disguise a laugh as a cough. He admires the finery of Regulus’ life at times, but there are some things that Severus thinks are a step too far.

Severus can sense that Regulus is looking at him. He’s probably wondering why Severus is still in his room, is probably waiting for a polite moment to ask Severus kindly to leave. Severus casts about for something else to talk about instead.

“I liked Edmund,” he says, turning around to face Regulus. 

Regulus smiles. “Oh, yes. Edmund is a hoot. He’s Lucius’ oldest friend.”

“He has a great deal of…passion. For the cause?”

“Absolutely,” Regulus says firmly. “I mean, everyone always thinks that it’s Bella who is the most devout, but she can be a bit -” he stops abruptly, looking quickly at the door as if expecting Bellatrix to burst in. He has the air of a younger relative who spent family gatherings being bullied. 

“Impassioned?” Severus suggests.

Regulus nods, but says no more. Severus can’t really blame him for appearing nervous; badmouthing Bellatrix in a room where walls literally talk is probably not the wisest move. Severus wholeheartedly agrees with him though. No one could question Bellatrix’s fervour, that much is certain, and yet Severus found Edmund and his words, his logical reasoning, a whole lot more convincing than Bellatrix’s wide-eyed mania on the subject of blood purity. 

After lunch Edmund had sought Severus and Regulus out and had said that the movement needed people like them - he’d said it to both of them but Severus was certain that he had looked at Severus as he had said it. 

“You’re the future,” Edmund said. “You, and people like your friend Barty - you must make sure he escapes from under his father’s rule, tell him to keep trying to come to a rally if he can. We must all seek to break the ties that bind us to mediocrity, must we not?”

And he had definitely looked at Severus then. 

He’d shaken their hands, like grown-ups, and told them to keep an ear to the ground and he’d try to find a way to get them all to a rally if he could. 

Severus glances again down at the gardens, at the expansive grounds and the marble statues and the light flooding out from the orangery. Narcissa and Lucius have invited him into their home, fed him, introduced him to their friends - they have been nothing but gracious hosts and Regulus a good friend. Severus can’t blame them for wanting to protect their world. If he had all this, he’d want to protect it too. Preserve it for the future. Severus has never wanted children but Regulus surely will - after all, he’s practically engaged as it is, at just fourteen - and like Edmund says, it’s for the future they are doing this.


	60. the worst christmas.

_December 1975._

Lily is in the kitchen washing up the plates after dinner, humming along to the Top 40 , when she hears something else besides the radio. She dries her hands on a tea towel and dials the radio volume down to low and, sure enough, can hear the sounds of her parents arguing coming from the living room.

Lily feels a twist in her stomach. She hasn’t heard her parents argue in forever. Walking to the living room door, she’s unsurprised to see Petunia already there, listening in. Lily thinks about reprimanding her for eavesdropping, but then crouches to her knees beside her sister and presses her ear to the door.

“What are they fighting about?” she whispers.

Petunia shushes her. “Shut up and we’ll find out.”

Petunia came home the day before Christmas Eve, and it’s been strained between them. If Lily had to put money on anyone fighting this holiday, she would have said it would have been the two of them, not her mum and dad.

Lily leans closer to the door. She can’t really make out what their parents are saying - the pitch of their voices keep lowering and rising, and her dad has put on one of his records. With a horrible jolt, Lily realises her mum is crying. 

She scrambles to her feet. Petunia straightens up after her, trying to stop her going for the door handle, but Lily elbows her away, opens the door, and strides in to the living room. 

The scene is not the scene she had been imagining. Her mum is in their father’s arms, her face buried in his shoulder, and he’s stroking her hair. The self-righteous anger that Lily had felt, the justification she had about listening in to her parents and then bursting in on them, suddenly melts and she stares at them, unsure.

“What’s going on?” Petunia asks.

“Girls,” their mum says, lifting her head and looking at them with red-rimmed eyes. “Come sit down.”

Her voice is squeaky. Her dad looks oddly impassive next to her. A hundred scenarios flood through Lily’s head. They’re getting a divorce. Her father is seeing someone else. 

Lily and Petunia sit down side by side on the sofa. Their mum sits on the footstool and leans across to hold their hands, one of theirs in each hers. Lily feels an odd desire to laugh; she feels as if her mother is about to do a group conjuring. Their father stays stood up. 

Lily is surprised when it’s their dad that speaks next. 

“Petunia. Lily. I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news.”

It isn’t a divorce, and it isn’t an affair. Lily braces herself but it’s the kind of bad news you can’t be braced for, even when you suddenly know, with gut-wrenching dread, exactly what is about to be said before it is, it doesn’t prepare you and it doesn’t help. 

Their dad has cancer. 

Lily stares at him as he talks. She stares at the hair greying at the temples, at his square-rimmed glasses, the green eyes behind them. He’s wearing a shirt that is damp at the shoulder where her mum had been crying. He’s wearing a waistcoat and dark trousers and brown shoes - he looks perfectly ordinary. He doesn’t look ill. He just looks like her dad.

She forces herself to concentrate as he explains that it’s been a while now, at least four months, and he hadn’t wanted to worry them and that’s why he didn’t tell them before they left for school and for college. Her mum makes a noise that could be a sob and presses a handkerchief to her mouth. They’d been arguing about when to tell them. 

“You were going to keep it from us?” Petunia demands, the first one to speak.

“I didn’t want a fuss,” their dad says. “I’m having treatment. The doctors seem fairly positive. I didn’t want to worry you both unnecessarily.”

Petunia straightens her shoulders and Lily knows she’s going to snap at that. Lily puts her hand on her sister’s and squeezes, softly, and Petunia slumps in on herself. Both of their parents talk some more, but Lily doesn’t really take most of it in. She looks again at her father, standing tall in the living room, calmly talking about appointments and percentages, and Lily closes her eyes, breathes in, and doesn’t let go of her sister’s hand. 

::

There’s a knock at her door a couple of hours later, and Lily is surprised that it’s Petunia. She can’t remember the last time her sister came to her room.

“Crazy, isn’t it,” Petunia says by way of greeting, sitting on Lily’s bed where Lily is lying.

Lily props herself up on her elbows. “Are you okay?”

Petunia nods. “I am. He seems confident. Don’t you think?”

Lily smiles, wishing that confidence was the cure for cancer, and then it would know if had definitely met it’s match in Rupert Evans. 

“Besides,” Petunia carries on, taking a deep breath. “You can fix it, can’t you?”

Lily sits up slowly. She stares at her sister for a long time, hoping that perhaps she misheard or Petunia has decided to suddenly grow a sick and inappropriate sense of humour and this is her idea of a morbid prank. Petunia looks back at her expectantly.

“Magic,” she says, when the silence has gone on for nearly a minute. Petunia’s lips twist over the word as if she’s having trouble saying it at all. She waves her hands in front of her. “You can do a - a, an, I don’t know - a spell. A potion. Something.”

Lily’s fingertips have gone cold. She opens her mouth but has no idea where to even begin. Petunia’s eyes narrow.

“You’re a witch!” she says shrilly. As always, it’s an accusation. “You can make him better. What’s the point if you can’t help people?”

“It doesn’t - it’s not like that,” Lily says hollowly. “I can’t magic people back to health, Tuney.”

“Then what good are you?” Petunia asks, and Lily flinches as if slapped. Petunia stands up and glares down at her. “You told me once, there’s a hospital, that people grow boils and lose limbs or sprout new ones - and they fix it! If they can fix that, then why -”

“It’s different. Don’t look at me like that, Petunia, it is. This isn’t magical. Muggle doctors and medicine is what he needs.”

“You’re not even going to try to help him, are you?” 

“How can you say that?” Lily asks, jumping to her feet as well. Her sister is taller than she is but still Lily takes a step closer to her, scowling up at Petunia. “Are you really that callous? If I could, don’t you think I’d have done it by now instead of arguing about it?”

Petunia’s lip curls. “Just go back to your card tricks and your frogs eggs. Clearly that’s all you’re good for. I wouldn’t trust your kind with him anyway.”

She leaves Lily’s room, just seconds before Lily throws her lava lamp her mum got her for Christmas at the spot where Petunia had been moments before. It smashes against the wall, exploding in a mess of plastic shards and purple goo and water. Lily flings herself back on her bed, the light bulb above her head flickering behind the lampshade, and she tries to force herself to calm down. Blood is pounding in her temples, there’s a ringing in her ears, and it takes Lily a moment to realise that there’s a sharp thwacking sound of something hitting her window.

Lily opens the window just in time for another pebble to soar through and nearly hit her in the face. She dodges it, swearing under her breath, and pokes her head out to peer down into the dark of the front garden, and sees Severus looking back up at her, clutching a handful of pebbles that line the front path.

She throws on a dressing gown over her pyjamas and hurries downstairs, past the living room where her parents are watching television together, and out on to the front porch. Severus barely gets out a greeting before Lily throws herself into his arms. He staggers back a step but holds on to her, one arm tightening around her waist, the other resting lightly on the back of her head. 

“Where have you been?” she asks, her voice muffled in the shoulder of his coat. “I haven’t seen you around.”

He moves as if he’s about to pull away from her, but she holds on tightly. The day she’s had, she’s not ready to let go just yet. Severus tenses, and then relaxes into the hug once more.

“Nowhere,” he says after a pause. “I’ve just been at home.”


	61. discoveries.

_Early 1976._

The remaining days of the year pass, for Lily, in fits and starts as if someone is fast-forwarding and pausing a jumpy video. It’s not a blur, unfortunately, because she remembers with a clarity she wishes she did not have the way that Petunia looks at her, the way her parents start talking loudly and excessively cheerily whenever she steps into a room. Their mother starts to plan a trip to Blackpool for the next half-term, and her dad nods along behind his newspaper, and yet Lily can’t help but stare at him and wonder if he’ll be well enough to go by then.

They all get invited to the Taylor’s house next door for New Year’s Eve, and Lily spends the night dodging questions about the boarding school she attends and avoiding being alone with the Taylor’s oldest son, Michael, for too long. He’s back from university in Exeter, Mrs Taylor keeps saying with a significant twinkle in her eye, and Lily hides in the kitchen eating shrimp canapes until the countdown comes on the radio. 

Petunia tries to travel down to London by herself, the day after New Year’s Day, but her parents won’t hear of it. 

“I can afford the train ticket,” Petunia says, nose in the air, as if driving down in the family car with the rest of them is something far beneath her.

“We’re taking Lily to catch her train, it wouldn’t make sense for you to go by yourself,” their mum says anxiously.

Their dad pushes his glasses up on to his forehead and pinches the bridge of his nose, looking tired. “Just get in the car, Petunia,” he says, and that’s that.

The five hour journey is filled with silences that their mum tries desperately to fill with car games and radio sing-a-longs, but Petunia just looks out of the window for the whole time and insists on jumping out on a busy London street as soon as they hit the city. 

“Not coming to see Lily off? You can catch the Underground from King’s Cross, love.”

“I’ll find my way from here,” Petunia says, already lugging her suitcase out. She says goodbye to their parents and leaves without saying anything to Lily. 

Their mum turns around in the passenger seat to look at Lily. “She’ll come around,” she says consolingly, but Lily thinks bitterly that it’s been five years now, and Petunia just seems to be going further in the opposite direction, never mind coming around to anything.

She hugs her parents tighter than usual on the platform and promises to write every week. She looks at her dad fiercely and tells him to keep her up to date with how he’s doing, and before he can protest that he’ll be just fine, there’s no need to fuss, Lily boards the train.

She finds Dorcas and Mary in their usual compartment. Dorcas is reading a book, her feet up on the opposite seat, and Mary is levitating a mirror in front of her and trying to twirl her hair around her wand at the same time. The tip is aglow, and Lily watches in interest for a moment before -

“Mar, your hair is on fire.”

Mary swears and drops her wand, clamping her hand around the lock of blonde hair that had started to singe. 

“I was trying to curl it,” she says ruefully as Lily sits down. “I read an article over the holidays in _Witch Weekly._ ”

“Trying to make Richie realise what he’s missing with your luxurious curls?” Dorcas says teasingly. 

“Wait - rewind - missing?” Lily looks between her two friends, frowning. “You and Richie broke up?”

Mary pulls a face. “He’s a loser. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Except the fifty-page letters she bombarded me with in which she did nothing but talk about it,” Dorcas says. She raises her eyebrows in Lily’s direction. “You had the right idea with your radio silence this holiday.”

Lily feels the creeping stirrings of guilt. “Sorry I didn’t write much -”

Mary says, “Don’t worry, I assume the world was ending of course, any other reason is just unacceptable, Evans -” but breaks off with a look of alarm when, to Lily’s equal horror, tears start to spring in Lily’s eyes.

“Oh, and that was our mild telling off,” Dorcas says, shutting her book and sitting up properly, putting an arm around Lily’s shoulders. “Lily, what -?”

“It’s my dad,” Lily says, wiping her eyes furiously with the back of her hand.

And then, as much as she had told herself that she wouldn’t cry or make a huge fuss about this, as soon as those three words are out, the rest of it all comes spilling out as well. By the time Lily has finished, the train has well and truly found its momentum. Lily stares out of the window at the countryside flashing by, field by field, but in the reflection she can still see her friends’ horror-struck expressions.

“He’ll be all right,” Dorcas says. “I mean - won’t he? Muggle medicine is quite, er, good, isn’t it? They’ve got - machines and things, don’t they?”

Lily knows that Dorcas doesn’t have the faintest clue about Muggle medicine or technology, but she’s trying at least. 

“Yeah,” Lily says. “He’ll be fine. It’s just the shock of it, that’s all.”

Dorcas nods, looking relieved. Mary has gone strangely quiet, and when Lily glances over at her Mary smiles, quick and false. Lily is starting to wish that she hadn’t said anything - after all, her dad will be fine - when the compartment door opens and the welcome distraction of Remus Lupin pokes his head in.

“Er, Lily? Sorry to intrude,” he says, and he looks like he means it as well. It’s probably obvious that she’s been crying, Lily thinks, as Remus looks at her and then quickly looks away again, his pained expression clearly saying he’d rather be anywhere but where he is. “It’s just, Sylvia sent me to find you.”

“Oh, damn it, patrol!” Lily says, jumping to her feet. “I completely forgot. Hang on a minute -”

“Wait a tick,” Mary says, holding on to Lily’s wrist and glaring at Remus, who shrinks back. “Patrolling the train can wait. Remus, you tell Sylvia -”

“No, no.” Lily gently disentangles herself and gives her friends a reassuring smile. “I’m fine. Honestly. Let’s go, Remus.”

In truth, patrolling has absolutely zero appeal, but it’s a way to keep her mind off of things. Lily pulls her jumper off over her head - Remus glances away again, this time staring at the rattling floor - and throws her robes on over her jeans and t-shirt, hastily pinning her badge on to the front. She gives Mary and Dorcas a wave and then ushers Remus out of the compartment.

“So tell me,” she says as they start to head towards the front of the train. “Was Sylvia terribly mad that I missed the Prefect meeting?”

Remus shrugs. “You know Sylvia. If you’re not five minutes early then you’re late.”

“So to miss it completely…?”

“You’re dead to her,” Remus says, completely straight-faced. “Ex-communicated from the Prefects. I’ll probably be shot for talking to you.”

Lily smiles, a real one this time, and the two fall into a comfortable silence as they walk the length of one carriage and into another. A group of younger year boys see them approaching; there’s a flurry of movement, a bit of a whispered argument, and then they all arrange their faces into the picture of perfect innocence just as Remus and Lily come to a stop outside their compartment. Lily slides the door open and Remus holds his hand out to them wordlessly, looking almost bored, and after a moment the boy at the front reluctantly hands over a magazine from where he had it hidden down the front of his robes.

Remus glances down at the magazine, his lips quirking, and then rolls it up and stashes it out of sight in one of his own pockets. Lily doesn’t get a good look at the front cover, but judging from the group of boy’s red faces, she doubts it was _The Daily Prophet_. She tries not to laugh as she closes the door again and they resume their walk.

“You’re not going to keep that, are you?” she asks slyly.

She opens the door to the next carriage and holds it open with the toe of her shoe, gesturing for Remus to go in first, but instead of moving he stops and looks at her, his ears reddening.

“Of course not! I’m going to hand it to McGonagall, the same as any confiscated belongi -” he stops when her laughter gets too loud, and he narrows his eyes at her. “You’re joking, aren’t you?”

“Sirius told me that you were fun to tease,” she says, striding past him. “I hate to admit it, but he was right.”

“He usually is about the annoying things,” he mumbles from behind her.

When he catches up to walk by her side again, she asks, “Are you really going to give that to McGonagall?” and is genuinely curious this time. 

Remus frowns. “Well, I suppose so. But now that you mention it, it does seem a bit -”

“Vile?” Lily suggests cheerfully. Remus nods. “You could always burn it, I suppose. If you’re dead-set against keeping it, of course,” she adds, flashing him another grin as they reach the end of the train and turn back around to make the final length.

“I’d say I could give it to the others, but they’ve probably got that copy,” Remus says, sounding almost thoughtful.

Lily laughs, half amused, half revolted. “Oh, gross. I bet it’s awful, living with a bunch of teenage boys.”

“Lily,” Remus says pointedly. “I hate to be the one to bring this to your attention - I hate it’s apparently not obvious enough to be at your attention in the first place, to be honest - but I am a teenage boy.”

“Yes, but I didn’t mean it like that,” Lily says, and then considers how she did mean it. “My mum says all boys are idiots when they’re younger - sorry -”

“No, no, it seems a fairly accurate assessment,” Remus says mildly. “Wait, sit down - I’m interested in hearing this.” He opens the door to an empty carriage and sits down, his hands on his knees, looking up at her expectantly. “Go on, tell me what I’m like.”

Lily rolls her eyes but, grateful for the excuse to sit down and avoid patrol for a bit, takes the seat opposite Remus.

“All right. Well, you’re different, for a start.”

“Different. Hm. Tricky descriptor, there.”

“A good different,” she amends. 

“Trust you to think different is good.”

Remus ducks his head once before looking back up at her. Lily takes in, for the first time, the fact that he clearly hasn’t shaved this morning and has the beginnings of stubble on his chin - in fact, the amount that Potter and Black shout about Remus’ inability to grow a beard, he must not have shaved for a couple of days - and the dark circles under his eyes. The skin underneath them is a papery blue-purple, the rest of his complexion pale. He never quite looks well, does Remus, and different is certainly one word to describe him. He appears shy, polite, quiet - until he gets talking and his deadpan sarcasm emerges, his observations about the people around him, and his own self-deprecating sense of humour. There’s nothing offensive about Remus, and yet Lily knows the talk that goes on about him. She knows his friends protect him, stick up for him, would probably knock anybody out who they heard gossiping about him; Lily herself feels protective over him, remembering all that awful business with his mum - that’s enough to exhaust anybody - and suddenly feels a rush of affection for the boy sat in front of her. 

“Different is good,” she says. “Who wants everyone to be the same? That’s a bit bloody boring, isn’t it?”

Remus smiles at her, and then a yawn catches him off guard. 

“I must be boring,” Lily remarks.

Remus shakes his head. “No, sorry. Had a bit of trouble sleeping the last couple of nights.”

“Is it your mum, still?” Lily asks, and Remus whips his head up, suddenly alert. “Sorry,” Lily says hesitantly. “You haven’t mentioned her in a while - I was just wondering - is she doing better?”

“I, uh.” Remus scratches behind his ear, wrinkles his nose. “She’s fine.”

He sounds about as convincing as Lily did when talking about her dad, she thinks. Lily reaches out and puts a hand on his knee, and he stares at it, his eyes wide.

“My dad isn’t very well,” Lily says, and it comes out a lot more smoothly and with a lot more clarity than when she had been telling Mary and Dorcas. It hadn’t been hard, exactly, telling them - but Remus will understand. “They told me over the break. That’s why - earlier, when you saw me with Dorcas and Mary, why I missed the Prefect meeting -”

“Oh, Lily. I’m - I’m so sorry,” Remus says, blinking. 

“It’s okay,” she says, squeezing his knee. “I mean, he will be - we hope - well, we don’t have much to go on at the moment but hope, so there’s that. What is it your mum has, exactly?” she asks, feeling suddenly bold.

Remus’ face crumples, and Lily thinks she’s overstepped the boundaries, is about to apologise, when he jerks his knee away from her and stands up. “Oh, God, Lily - I’m so sorry, I’m such an idiot - please don’t hate me -”

“Remus, what?” Lily says, completely bemused.

“My mum isn’t ill.” Remus rubs a hand over his face and looks down at his shoes. “God. I feel horrible. I had no idea about your dad - I’m really sorry -”

“What do you mean, your mum isn’t ill?” Lily asks, frowning. “But - you - you go and visit her all the time. Don’t you?”

Remus can’t seem to decide what to do with himself. He sits back down, drumming his fingertips on his thigh, his eyes darting around the compartment as if looking for the best way to fling himself from the window and escape Lily’s accusing gaze.

“Where do you go then?” she demands.

Her voice is rising, verging on almost Petunia-pitched. Remus’ mouth opens and closes wordlessly as he stares at her, and the longer he stares without saying anything, the more confused and angry Lily can feel herself getting. Heat rises on her face, and for the second time that day she feels tears spring to her eyes, and she blinks furiously. She won’t cry, she refuses to - she just can’t understand why Remus would lie, and about something as serious as his mother being ill. What kind of person does that?

“Lily,” Remus says, sounding pained. “I can explain -”

“Well, usually people start that by actually answering the questions!” 

Remus winces. He’s gripping one hand inside his other so tightly that his knuckles have turned white. Lily feels a sinking feeling in her stomach as she looks at him, as it starts to sink in that Remus has been lying, all these years. It’s as if she’s looking at a completely different person.

“Hullo, skiving off Prefect duties, are we?” says Sirius cheerfully, sticking his head into the compartment and grinning at the both of them. “Evans, always a pleasure. Did you have a good Christmas? Has Remus told you about the exploding mince pie escapade yet - Remus? What’s wrong?” 

Sirius’ countenance changes at once as he takes in the state his friend is in; he comes forward, puts a hand on Remus’ shoulder, who starts and then stands up abruptly.

“I need to go,” he says thickly. He looks at Lily again. “I’m really, really sorry, Lily.”

And then he all but runs out of the compartment. Sirius stares at after him for a moment and then rounds on Lily.

“What the bloody hell did you do to him, Evans?”

“Me?” she says, almost laughing. The last ten minutes have been absurd. “What about him and his secrets?”

“What?” Sirius says, eyeing her warily.

“His mother isn’t even ill, did you know that?” 

Sirius draws himself up to full height, and gives her the withering sort of look he usually reserves for Slytherins.

“Evans, shut up,” he says. 

“What?”

Beneath the bravado, Lily knows that this is Sirius Black worried, worried and angry and defensive. He looks out of the compartment, presumably to see if he can see which way Remus went, and then looks back at her, glaring, and Lily resists the urge to take a step back from him. She straightens up, glares right back at him.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. I need to go find him.”

Sirius doesn’t spare her a backwards glance before he tears out of the compartment and up the length of the train. 

Lily sighs, staring out of the window. It’s still early afternoon but the sky is already darkening. Lily thinks about going back to find her friends - she even thinks about going to find Remus - but then decides against both. She rests her forehead against the window, trying to pretend that the rattling of the train is a soothing lull, and watches as the train hurtles her through harsh, craggy landscape, the black clouds thick overhead.

::

Lily doesn’t see much of Remus, Sirius, or any of the boys during the first couple of days back at school. Remus sits furthest away from her at the Gryffindor Table during the first dinner back, and conveniently gets lost in the swarm of students as they and the other Prefects chivvy the younger students up the stairs and to bed. He’s nowhere to be seen in the common room the next day and is absent at dinner. Sirius is there though, throwing her dirty looks from over his steak and kidney pie, and Lily is about to get up and ask him what his problem is, point out that it’s not her who’s the liar, and then Mary provides a disruption by bursting into tears and leaving the table.

“Richie just walked in,” Dorcas says, by way of explanation, and Lily focuses her ire on him instead. 

It had all come out the previous evening as the girls were getting ready for bed, and Mary had told Lily that Richie had broken up with her “because of the way things are at the moment”, and on Christmas Day of all days. Lily had been confused until Dorcas had snorted and said, “He means it’s not cool for him to be dating a Muggle-born anymore,” and Lily had finally understood, feeling like a bucket of cold water had been tipped over her. No wonder Mary was so upset, she had thought, and had spent the rest of the evening unable to sleep until the early hours, thinking about how awful the general human race was.

Richie gives them a quick, red-faced look and then hurriedly seats himself at the far end of the table. He says something to James, and Lily notices that James’ reply is short, and he barely even glances at Richie before pointedly turning the other way and talking to Peter. Lily finds herself smiling. Word has gotten around about Mary and Richie’s break up, then.

“Come on,” Dorcas says with a sigh, tugging Lily to her feet. “We better go after her. She gives Myrtle a run for her money when she gets going,” and she leads the way after Mary, and away from James and Sirius.

Lily plans to catch him after Transfiguration the next day, but Remus isn’t in class. The seat next to Sirius is conspicuously empty, and when McGonagall’s back is turned to the board, Lily leans across to whisper to Peter.

“Where’s Remus?”

Peter gives her an alarmed, sideways look. He’s spared from having to answer by James leaning across him and butting in.

“Leave it out, Evans. He’s not feeling well.”

“Oh, so it’s not his mum this time, then?” Lily says coolly.

Peter turns pink, twiddling his quill around in his hands.

James stares at her levelly. “Why are you being so harsh? I’m really sorry to hear about your dad, Evans, but that’s no excuse to take it out on Remus.”

Lily splutters, feeling herself going red. “He - he told you? I’m going to kill him, that’s completely -”

“Miss Evans, you will save your death threats until after class if you please,” McGonagall says smoothly, turning back around and surveying them over the rim of her glasses. “Everyone take out your wands and come and fetch your porcupines from my desk.”

Lily all but throws her things into her bag as soon as the lesson is over. James approaches her, but before he can say more than a soft, “Evans -”, Lily has barged past him, slamming into his shoulder on her way past. It’s meant to be dramatic, but actually just really hurts - that boy is _solid_ \- and she rushes out of the classroom as fast as possible without breaking in to a run.

She skips dinner and makes a start on her History of Magic essay in the library. It’s only the first few days back and already the teachers have laden them with homework. She’s perusing the section dedicated to the giant trials in the 19th century, her mind mostly on Remus and how best to catch him. She doesn’t get why he’s avoiding her so much. She just wants the truth.

“Evans,” the bookshelf says, and she makes a startled yelp in the back of her throat and drops the book she’s holding. 

On the other side of the shelving she sees messy hair and glasses, and she curses as she bends to pick up the book. 

“Are you stalking me now?” she grumbles as James saunters around the bookcase. She turns her back on him and sees Sirius lounging on the table where she’d left her bag, and Peter stood next to him, glancing at her nervously. “Oh, what is this?” she asks with a huff. “Tell Remus he needs to start fighting his own battles.”

“I told you she wouldn’t want to listen to us,” Peter mutters.

Sirius says, eyes on Lily, “James thinks she should know.”

“I voted against it,” Peter says, almost in a whine, “and you were undecided so technically there should have been a tie-breaker!”

Sirius flicks Peter on the nose. It’s a convincing argument. Peter swears and falls silent, rubbing at the tip of nose and throwing deeply distrustful looks at Lily. Lily gathers her belongings together, hitches her bag up on her shoulder, and attempts to leave but James is blocking the way.

“Evans, we need to talk,” he says, his voice unnaturally serious. 

“Oh, God, is Remus dead?” she asks. “You didn’t kill him, did you?”

“Not yet,” Sirius says, perfectly cheerful.

“You might want to sit down,” James says.

Lily stays standing. “You guys are freaking me out. Remus is lying, and you’re being so weird - just, what is going on?”

“We should wait for Remus,” Peter says, edging out of Sirius’ reach and looking beseechingly at James.

James sighs. “Peter, he’ll be cool with it. He said as much last night. It’s better than Evans thinking -” he waves a hand vaguely in the air, “- whatever it is she’s thinking.”

“I want to know what the hell you’re all thinking,” Lily says loudly, causing all three of them to stare at her.

“Okay. Okay.” James swipes a hand through his hair, sits on the edge of the table, and then seems to think better of it and stands up again, settling for a lean instead. “So. You know how Remus is gone a lot, right? I mean, you have noticed?”

“I’m not blind, Potter. Get to the point. He said he was visiting his mum but that’s clearly a crock of shit.”

“Language, Evans,” Sirius says, sounding both mock-offended and impressed. “Are Prefects allowed to talk like that?”

She rolls her eyes, deciding that it’s probably best to ignore him and concentrate on the only one who seems ready to offer any explanations, which, bizarrely, is James. Lily turns away from Sirius and crosses her arms, waiting impatiently for James to continue.

“Right, so - yeah, his mum isn’t ill. Picture of health, actually - charming woman, makes the most amazing pasties. Although, I guess, not really important, no - right you are - so - it’s Remus that, er, has the problem.”

“Remus is ill?” Lily says. “So what’s wrong with him?”

Sirius makes a funny noise in the back of his throat. “There’s nothing _wrong_ with him.”

“Well, not exactly,” James says. “Don’t look at me like that, Pads, I’m trying to explain it as best I can -”

 _Pads?_ Lily thinks, and then decides she doesn’t really want to ask. Instead she says, “So, Remus is…unwell. Sometimes. And that’s why he misses lessons. Am I getting any of this remotely right?”

James nods. “Yeah. So he’s got this - well, some might call it a condition.”

Lily’s eyebrows shoot up on her forehead. “A condition.”

Sirius scoffs. “Come on, Evans. Surely you’ve noticed some things are off about Remus. Different. Haven’t you ever wondered? I had thought you’d have worked it out.”

The penny drops. Lily glances around at the three of them, and then she smiles. Relief floods her. She’d been imagining something terrible.

“I know what you’re talking about,” she says. “I get it. Well, it’s a shame he felt like he had to hide it.”

“Exactly!” James says. “I knew you’d be cool with it. It’s nothing bad, or - or dangerous. He’s just like us, really.”

“He shouldn’t be treated any differently because of it,” Peter pipes up. “I mean, he can’t help it. It’s just how he is.”

Lily nods slowly, taking this in. She can’t say she’s surprised, really. But that still doesn’t quite explain -

“Why does he have to go away?”

“Well, Dumbledore says it’s for his own safety. And for the students, obviously.”

Lily frowns. “Dumbledore thinks other people will hurt him? That’s so - that’s awful!”

“Mostly that he’d hurt them,” Peter says.

“Why would -?” Lily begins, but James interrupts.

“They probably wouldn’t be best pleased, would they?” James says with a small, tight smile. “We were all a bit shocked when we found out.”

“How long have you known?”

“We figured it out in second year,” Peter says, looking proud. 

“Wow, he’s known since then?” Lily says. 

She imagines what carting that kind of secret around with you for so long would be like. Poor Remus, she thinks.

“Well, he’s, er, known since he was five,” James says, scratching his chin. “I mean, that’s when - that’s when it happened.”

“Wait, what?” Lily says. “Now I’m confused again.”

Sirius, who up until now had been watching the exchange in silence with a look on his face that has been turning stormier with every passing comment, suddenly jumps up.

“For the love of Merlin!” he cries. “We’re not talking about Moony being _gay_ , Evans.”

James looks at the two of them, looking as confused as Lily feels. 

“Hang on, when were we talking about -?”

“He’s a werewolf,” Sirius says, opening his arms wide as if presenting this information to her like a gift. “There. That’s why he’s never around on or near the full moon. It’s why he looks like an Inferi most of the time. I mean, Evans, honestly - _Moony._ Really, you never twigged?”

Lily blinks. She finally sits down. 

“Well,” she says at last. “In this context, I guess that does make a lot more sense.”

“Remus really doesn’t have to worry about his secret being discovered, does he,” Sirius mutters. “It’s lucky that the Defence Against the Dark Arts curriculum is so piss poor that the entire school doesn’t notice a werewolf in their midst.”

Lily thinks about Severus and his friends, about the snide comments on Remus’ whereabouts once a month, Sev’s theories and speculation. She remembers a conversation she had with Mary, two years ago, when she noticed Remus half-collapsed at his desk in Charms the night after a full moon, and about how she’d wondered, for the briefest of seconds -

“Yeah,” she says faintly. “Never had a clue.”

“It’s not an issue, is it?” Sirius asks, the trace of a growl in his voice.

Lily glares at him. “Don’t be an idiot. I’m not a bigot.”

“We know,” James says quickly. “Just - so everyone is on the same page. He has it under control, sort of - there’s a place he goes every month, and he’s not a threat there.”

“Yeah, and we’ve introduced some special measures,” Peter says, snickering, falling silent only when James and Sirius glare at him in unison.

“Well,” Lily says, pushing herself to her feet. “If that’s quite all the big reveals for the night finished, I think I’m going to go to bed.” She gets two paces away before she looks back at them all and smiles slightly. “Thank you for telling me.”

Sirius shrugs. “Remus trusts you.”

James glances at his friends before seeming to decide something and walks after Lily, taking her by the elbow and drawing her to one side, slightly out of earshot. 

“Evans,” he says. “About before, in Transfiguration - what I said about your dad - I am really sorry to hear it. Remus told me but he didn’t mean to, he was upset -”

“James,” Lily says, and he stops babbling at once. “It’s okay. Don’t hurt yourself - you being serious looks like it’s taking a lot out of you.”

He grins at her crookedly and she gives him a small wave over her shoulder before leaving. She thinks she hears a happy sigh from behind her, but then maybe it’s just the wind outside.

::

Lily manages to switch her Prefect duties with Melissa Appleyard two nights later so that she lands patrolling the hallways for students out after curfew. She’s supposed to be taking the fifth floor, but she takes a diversion and finds Remus walking along the shadowy length of the second. 

“Hey,” she says, falling into step beside him.

He glances warily at her, and doesn’t seem terribly surprised to see her there. “Hi.”

“How are you feeling?”

Remus shrugs. “I’m all right. Thank you,” he adds, something about his tone still stilted and awkward. He breathes a deep sigh and says, “Lily -”

“Want to come with me to scope out the kitchens?” Lily suggests brightly.

They come to a halt in front of a creaking suit of armour. Remus frowns at her.

“You think students might be out of bed down there?”

“Well, we’re students, and we could be out of bed down there.” Remus still looks dubious, so Lily punches his arm playfully, continues, “Come on, I don’t know about you, but once a month I just get a craving only hot chocolate can fill,” and with a wink she leads the way down the staircase.

::

The next time Lily bumps into Remus after dark, Remus is stood in front of the same suit of armour. Lily is coming up the staircase, and is nearly blinded by wandlight as Remus steps out from behind the suit, wand raised directly at her in one shining beam.

“Oh, Lily, sorry - _nox_ \- what are you doing?”

“What am I doing?” Lily repeats, blinking and rubbing her eyes with one hand. “What are you doing? I didn’t think you had hallway duty tonight as well.”

“Er -” Remus looks sheepish. “Different kind of hallway duty, I’m afraid.”

Her vision adjusting, Lily looks down to the floor and sees a bucket full of soapy water and a large bag of something nearby. Peering closer, Lily reads _Zonko’s Easy-Slip Forever-Trip Soap and Slide Floor Coating._

Lily raises an eyebrow. “Really, Remus? I’m on duty tonight, you know.”

Sirius appears out of the shadows. “Hi, Evans. Sorry, couldn’t help but overhear - it’s for Filch, you see. He was bullying Alfie yesterday for dripping mud in the Entrance Hall after Quidditch practice. You know how awful he is. Alfie’s a sensitive soul.”

Lily sighs. “Fine, fine. I didn’t see it, I’m not here -”

Sirius grins at her. “You’re a diamond, Evans.”

“I want it gone by sunrise, though,” she warns. “If a student hurts themselves, you’re in serious trouble.”

Sirius nods gravely. “On my honour as a Marauder,” he says, and Lily rolls her eyes at that. 

“You should probably take a different route back,” Remus says to her. “Take the passageway behind the centaur tapestry that’ll bring you out on the third floor. I’ll show you it.”

“You know all our secrets now, Evans,” Sirius says cheerfully, waving to her as she turns to go.

Before she does, Lily sees how Remus looks at Sirius, fond and despairing both at the same time, his features soft in the candlelight. Remus smiles at Sirius as the other boy takes vigil, and she turns away with a wry smile.

“I’ll agree with you on that one,” she says quietly, gesturing at Remus to lead the way.


	62. the trouble with feelings.

_February 1976_

Valentines Day this year falls on the day of the nearly-full moon, something that seems to Remus as just another part of the grand cosmic joke that is his life. Not that Remus has plans, romantic or otherwise, or anything close to resembling a date. The celebrations don’t seem the effect him the way they do other students, and he still harbours a sense of dread every February fourteenth ever since Sirius unleashed a cherub armed with a crossbow on him in Third Year, and yet even a few hours spent in Madam Puddifoot’s choking on scented tea and confetti seems preferable to how Remus will be spending the day. He’ll be missing an important Potions practical tomorrow, and so Slughorn and McGonagall have agreed for him to sit it a day early. 

Remus is the first to rise in the dormitory, and he dresses quickly and silently, praising whatever deities are listening that his sock drawer is mercifully cherub-free. Remus loves the castle early in the morning, when it’s empty save for a few cats loitering in the halls, making the most of the space before the students wake. It’s more peaceful than at night, when students are more likely to be up sneaking around, or Peeves is causing havoc, or Filch is lurking around every corner. In the early hours, Hogwarts is wonderfully absent of students, ghosts, and cantankerous caretakers. The only sound Remus hears is his own footsteps echoing off of the stone walls and floors as he makes his way to the dungeons.

It’s only when he gets close to the Potions classroom door that he realises he’s not the only one awake. He can hear Slughorn’s deep baritone coming from behind the closed wooden door, and another voice as well. Remus feels his heart sink as he recognises the nasally tone of Severus Snape. Remus knocks on the door, waits a moment as the voices quieten, and then the door creaks open and Remus is staring at Slughorn’s moustache. 

“Lupin! My, you are an early riser - I wasn’t expecting you for another half an hour or so, m’boy.”

“Sorry, sir. It’s often better for me to get these things out of the way while I - while I can,” Remus explains, keeping his voice as low as Slughorn’s is booming, well aware that Snape is watching him curiously from behind the professor. “I can go away and come back in a bit if you’d prefer?”

“Nonsense,” Slughorn says pleasantly, opening the door wider and allowing room for Remus to step inside. “I’m all set, and Severus here was just leaving anyway. Unless you wanted something else, Severus?”

“No, Professor,” Snape says, his eyes still on Remus. He waits until Slughorn’s back is turned as the professor busies himself with clearing a space on one of the desks, moving empty vials back to where they belong, and then Snape says, sneeringly, “What’s this, Lupin? Remedial Potions?”

“That’s right,” Remus says stiffly. 

Snape glances at Slughorn. “He’s getting ingredients out for a Strengthening Solution. Which is what our practical is on tomorrow. Let me guess,” he says lazily, his dark eyes boring back into Remus. “You’ll be conspicuously absent for tomorrow’s lesson? What a surprise. You spend as much time out of lessons as you do in them, Lupin. I’m surprised they haven’t stripped you of your Prefect badge.”

Remus says nothing, walks past Snape and begins to take out his weighing scales and notes. Slughorn turns around, looking at Snape in surprise.

“Still here, Severus? I promise you, I’ll keep a look out for what you’ve told me today. Celebrations and holidays of all types do seem to bring out the mischievous side of people.”

Remus frowns. That sounds like a very apt description of his friends. 

“Your concerns are noted,” Slughorn continues, “but now, I must ask you to leave.”

Slughorn waves his wand at the large brass hourglass on his desk, which turns upside down, commencing the hour-and-a-half countdown that Remus has, and then disappears into the backroom. 

“What have you told him?” Remus asks, as soon as Slughorn is out of earshot.

Snape just smiles, an expression that causes Remus’ stomach to clench, and moves towards the door.

“Never you mind, Lupin. Enjoy your _Remedial Potions_. The clock is ticking.”

::

“Snape is up to something,” Remus says, nearly two hours later, rushing into the dormitory.

His dramatic entrance is not as well received as he would have liked. His friends are only just stirring for the day. James is sat on the side of his bed pulling on his socks, Peter is still buried under a mass of bedcovers, and there’s the sound of running water coming from the bathroom which tells Remus that Sirius is in the shower.

James glances up. “Good for him,” he says. “I always thought he should get a hobby.”

“No. Listen. What are you planning for today?”

James pulls on his robes, and then sits down heavily on top of Peter. There’s a groaning sound from the bedcovers. James bounces a bit for good measure, and then stands up again, walking over to the mirror to inspect his reflection.

“We’ve got a nearly identical timetable, Moony.”

“I need to know,” Remus says.

James raises his eyebrows. “Well, in a bit I’m going down to breakfast, and then I’ve got a two-hour date with McGonagall in the form of double Transfiguration. Lunch will follow, in which time I may possibly nip to the toilet -”

“What pranks are you planning?” Remus says impatiently, just as the sound of water stops and Sirius emerges from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist.

“Morning,” Sirius says to him, scrubbing at his head with another towel. “How did Potions go?”

“He’s trying to get us to tell him what pranks we have in store,” James says, leaning over Pete’s bed and ripping the bedcovers off. Peter howls and tries to clutch at them, but James levitates them to the ceiling. “Wakey, wakey, Petey. The day is beginning, and we’ve got McGonagall in an hour.”

“Oh, just let me die,” Peter mumbles, curling into a ball.

“Why’d you want to know about pranks?” Sirius asks Remus. “I thought you said when you became Prefect that you wanted no part in the big ones - hear no evil, see no evil, etcetera, etcetera.”

Remus tries not to stare as Sirius crosses the room to his trunk and bends down to get his clothes out. He looks instead at Peter - simple, non-distracting Peter - and tries to tell them what Snape had said.

“He’s obviously tipped Slughorn off, or told him to watch you, or something. So just - whatever it is, please tell me it’s not dangerous.”

Sirius is still rooting around in his trunk. Remus makes the mistake of taking his eyes off of Peter, who is finally getting up, and his eyes wander down the expanse of Sirius’ back, where droplets of water are running from his still-wet hair down his spine, leaving a trail of water between his shoulder blades. Thankfully Sirius finds his robes a moment later and pulls them on, and wraps his hair turban-style in the towel. Remus feels his heart rate return somewhat to normalcy. 

His friends don’t seem bothered by what he’s telling them.

“We didn’t have much planned for today,” James says, sharing an unconcerned look with Peter. Remus must look disbelieving, because he carries on, “It’s true! Tomorrow is the full moon, we didn’t think it worth the risk of landing ourselves in detention and missing spending a night in the Forest.”

“So let Snape think he’s going to catch us out,” Sirius says with a shrug. “If that’s how the little creep wants to get his rocks off.”

“You’re really - not planning anything?” Remus asks. It’s probably the first Valentines Day when they haven’t.

“Well, barring fighting off all the ladies and their affections today,” James says with a grin, grabbing his bag from the cloak stand. “Nothing at all.”

“It’s fun to mix things up every once in a while,” Sirius says. “Keep the people guessing.”

“I’m almost touched you think I’m worth suspending pranking for,” Remus says.

Sirius takes the towel off of his head. He must have charmed it somehow, because when he does, his hair is dry. 

“You should be touched,” he says, and then when he’s sure that James and Peter aren’t looking, he smiles, almost predatory. “That’s what Valentines Day is all about, right?”

Remus wishes he didn’t blush so easily. 

::

The four of them arrive at the Gryffindor table just in time for the morning post to arrive. A few students give them curious, apprehensive looks as they take their seats, no doubt steeling themselves in preparation for the explosions or masses of slime, but nothing comes from the morning owls except newspaper subscriptions and Valentine’s Day cards.

“Is your big prank coming later?” Alfie McKinnon asks, his eyes wide.

Sirius reaches for the marmalade. “Sorry to disappoint you, Alf, but we’re clean living today.”

“I don’t think he’s the only one you’ve disappointed,” Remus says, nudging Sirius and nodding in the direction of the Slytherin table.

From across the hall and over the heads of close-sitting couples, they can see Snape looking their way. He’s sat next to Regulus, who in turn has Cressida Carrow draped on his arm, and Snape is sat to attention like a guard dog poised for action. 

“Pathetic,” Sirius says, and then wrinkles his nose. “And someone should tell my brother that it’s too early to be making people vomit.”

“I thought we all agreed in Second Year that it’s never too early to be making people vomit,” Peter says, putting aside the newspaper that thankfully doesn’t seem to hold any reports of death and destruction, and spooning three sugars into his cup of tea.

Sirius has marmalade on his left cheek as well as his toast. Remus wonders how somebody can be attractive with condiments smeared on their face, and he feels a twinge of disappointment when James points it out and Sirius wipes it off with a napkin. 

“I just mean,” Sirius says, exaggerating a shudder as Cressida leans across and kisses Regulus on the nose, “there’s a time and a place for indecency, and the breakfast table is not it.”

James reaches for Peter’s discarded newspaper, opening it up to the sports section and grinning at Sirius over the top of the pages. 

“Are you sure you’re not just jealous that that’s not you?”

“I know I’m the first one to make jokes about my family and inbreeding,” Sirius answers, flipping James off, “but Regulus just isn’t my type.”

James keeps his eyes trained on the Quidditch news, but his smile is wicked. “I more meant, Cressida was your intended. Maybe you’re lamenting the loss of someone licking your nose.”

“Where’s your girlfriend?” Sirius asks suddenly. “Haven’t you got her nose to be going off and licking?”

James shrugs. “I’ll talk to her later.”

“Last of the great romantics, you are, James Potter.”

“I think it would be simpler,” Peter says thoughtfully. “You know, just having someone chosen for you and getting on with it.”

“Do you?” Sirius says coldly. “I’d rather hex my nose off than have Cressida Carrow slobber all over it.”

Privately Remus thinks that Regulus doesn’t seem too thrilled about it either. He looks almost as moody as Snape, who has given up watching them at last. He’s sat slumped in on himself, head down so that his hair falls like two black sheets on either side of his face, and is now stabbing his eggs with his fork with great intent. 

Eager to veer the subject away from the licking of noses and anything of the sort, Remus says, “This is great. We should not prank every year.”

“No pranks? Let’s not get carried away,” James says, looking up from the newspaper in some alarm.

“Yeah, Snivelly is probably just bitter because he wanted to lick my brothers -”

“Are you seeing Tabitha tonight then, James?” Remus asks quickly, as Alfie McKinnon has just tuned back into the conversation, a wondering look on his face. 

Again, all that his girlfriend’s name inspires from James is a shrug. James has focused his attention entirely on the newspaper in front of him, a crease on his forehead visible just behind the frame of his glasses; it’s the same look that James adopts when he’s pretending to concentrate in lessons, and Remus has seen it enough times to know that he should drop the Tabitha line of questioning.

Over the Christmas period James had been getting steadily more laconic in his reactions about Tabitha with each passing day; he endured all their questioning and teasing with a grim-faced sort of resignation, until finally snapping on Boxing Day and telling Peter to shut up and get a girlfriend himself if he was so interested. Remus had asked, innocently enough, if Tabitha had been invited to stay with him at Maidstone with his parents, and James had glared and said, “Don’t be stupid, Moony, I don’t want her meeting my parents!” which Remus, even with his limited experience, rather thought should not be the appropriate reaction.

A quick glance up and down the Gryffindor table confirms Tabitha’s absence. Remus wonders if she and James have had a fight or a falling out, or if this is one of those instances where nothing gets said and couples just fall apart. Maybe that would be easier than the sort of break up Mary and Richie Dennison had, with its repercussions both public and poliical - and indeed, looking over at them now, Remus sees they’re both sat far away from each other, studiously intent on breakfast and ignoring all things pink and heart-shaped. 

Sirius isn’t looking surprised or concerned by James’ behaviour; no doubt he knows the reason for it all. He’s mentioned nothing about it to Remus though - although, Remus supposes Sirius doesn’t tell him everything, or shouldn’t have to anyway. Roughly he pushes aside the notion that Sirius not telling him things is something to be offended by - going down that road won’t help any, Sirius doesn’t owe him anything after all.

He considers what Peter said, about the ease of arranged partnerships. It would certainly spare everyone the turmoil of emotions. 

They’re on their way to Transfiguration when Tabitha steps out of a classroom and nearly walks into Peter. She starts to apologise but then glances up and sees James stood a step behind him. Her face contorts into an unreadable expression and she turns on her heel and heads quickly in the opposite direction. James tilts his chin defiantly, and carries on down the hallway as if nothing happened.

“Makes you glad you’re not involved with someone, doesn’t it?” Peter whispers to Remus, who hums softly in his throat, thinking about how very much he despises Valentine’s Day.

::

The day wears on, and for Remus, who has been up hours before his friends and who has the ever-present needling of the moon in his limbs, it feels like dragging himself through mud. McGonagall’s lessons are taxing at the best of times, and on the day before the full moon, Remus can barely take in what she’s telling them about Conjuring Spells. The words slide through his brain, swirling in the fog there, nothing sticking, but he refuses to sack it in and leave lessons for the day, no matter how many concerned looks his friends throw him. He can’t give in every month, especially not now OWL’s are so close; the thought of what Snape will say if he misses Care of Magical Creatures is enough to force Remus to power through until after morning break.

“You really don’t look great,” Peter tells him, not for the first time.

Remus doesn’t have a response for that. He’s too tired to actually say one even if his brain could come up with one anyway, so he just makes a sort of grunt as he follows the others down the sloping hill towards the paddock where Professor Kettleburn has been keeping Porlocks for them to study.

There are two horses tethered in the paddock, and a rustling in the large bale of hay in the centre that lets the students know that the Porlocks are hiding just out of sight, guarding the horses. The horses are unconcerned and eat their hay placidly, their tails swishing, but as soon as the lesson begins and Mary leans over to stroke one on the muzzle, the bale of hay shakes violently and the horse shies away.

“That’s it, Miss MacDonald has the right idea,” Professor Kettleburn says encouragingly, nodding at Mary to continue. “If you earn the trust of the horses, the Porlocks will not see you as a threat. Frighten the horses, and…well, wands at the ready, ladies and gents. Remember, Porlocks don’t much like loud banging noises.”

The class take it in turns to approach the horses and try to tempt the Porlocks out of hiding. Remus is stood right at the back, leaning his weight against the trunk of a tree. He suddenly feels very heavy, as if all his limbs have been dipped in molten lead. 

He’s watching Mary now feeding the grey horse sugarlumps, and Mulciber failing to even touch his. Remus’ eyelids are just starting to droop when he’s jolted back awake by James talking to him.

“You sure you don’t need to go and see Pomfrey?” 

“I’m sure,” Remus says grudgingly, straightening up slightly, but still the tree is taking most of his weight. He hopes it looks more like he’s just casually leaning raher than relying on the tree to hold him upright.

James shrugs, clearly not believing him, and says, “Mary looks like she’s doing all right now, doesn’t she? After Richie.”

Remus suspects that James’ line of conversation has more to do with him trying to keep Remus awake and focused on something rather than really having any burning desire to discuss his classmate’s love life. Remus doesn’t respond - responding takes brain function - but Peter giggles.

“She’s getting back on the horse,” he says. “Get it?”

“That was a terrible joke,” Sirius says. “I’m almost ready to disown you.”

“It wasn’t very sensitive either,” says Lily. 

James turns to her. “I wasn’t being rude, Evans. I’m just saying - good for her - she seems to be holding up, considering -”

“Considering her boyfriend was a Class A lowlife?”

“Well, yeah, that.”

Remus is struggling to keep his eyes open, but through half-closed lids he can make out Lily’s defiant stance. 

“I’m surprised you’re not on his side,” Lily says, and Remus groans in a way that he’s not sure is from the pain or from Lily and James bickering again.

He wishes he had enough energy to tell James to let it drop, whatever has got Lily’s back up, but he doesn’t. He can only watch the inevitable row unfold.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I saw Tabitha this morning,” Lily says, and James’ bravado seems to leak completely out of him. “She was crying in the bathroom. What kind of person breaks up with someone on Valentine’s Day?”

“She told you that?” James says, horror-struck. “Did she tell you why -?”

“No. She didn’t have to,” Lily says, and James looks somewhat relieved. “Breaking up with someone on today of all days is exactly the same as doing it on Christmas Day.”

Sirius sighs. “Back off, Evans. It wasn’t today, it was days ago, for one thing. And for another, it’s not comparable. James isn’t a bigot. He didn’t break up with her because of politics.”

“Padfoot,” James says lowly, “be quiet.”

“You’re just all the same!”

“I’m surprised that you’re shocked at Potter’s behaviour,” Snape says, who has been watching the argument build with as much smug satisfaction as Remus has horror. “Did you think he’d changed?”

James rounds on Snape furiously. “Is anyone even talking to you?”

“Temper, Potter,” Snape says, his eyes glittering.

“No, seriously, what makes you think you even have the right to talk to Lily?”

Lily frowns. “That’s enough of that, Potter.”

“I’m Lily’s friend,” Snape says, but Remus doesn’t miss that he says it quietly, well out of earshot of Mulciber, who is still trying to stroke the horse.

“Is that a fact?” James sneers. 

“Tell me,” Sirius says thoughtfully, “if you’re such good friends, have you told Evans that you spent Christmas with my dear family? What did you do, all get drunk, play charades, and sign up for the Death Eaters?”

There’s a murmuring the crowd of students. Finally Professor Kettleburn seems to have realised he has lost the attention of half of his class, and he waves one of his walking sticks in their direction.

“Are you listening at the back? Now, who can tell me when Porlocks were first reclassified?”

Lily is staring at Snape. “Sev?” she says uncertainly.

Snape’s expression is closed off. He’s concentrating on Sirius, his fists balled up angrily. “You’ll pay for that one, Black.”

“I’m hurt,” Sirius says, laying a hand over his heart. “After all, you’ve been at my house more than I have recently, I thought we were practically family…”

“Shut up,” Snape says, but falls silent when Mulciber joins them.

Mulciber looks disdainfully at Sirius, James, and Lily. “What’s going on here, Severus?” he asks.

“Nothing,” Snape says, glaring at the grass.

Lily pushes past James and goes to stand by Mary at the front of the class. Snape glances surreptitiously at her as she passes, but then whips his head up and looks at Sirius, his lip curling.

“You’re all dead. You think you can get away with whatever you want - that’s about to change -”

“Newsflash, idiot,” James says, throwing his arms wide and raising his voice. “We haven’t done anything.”

“I bet that just eats you up inside,” Sirius says, as Peter laughs gleefully. 

Remus clutches at his stomach. His insides feel like they’re roiling, and he’s hot suddenly, too hot -

“You’re always up to something. You think you’re so clever, that no one will work it out, but you’re not - I’m on to you, whatever it is you’ve got going on with Lupin here - aside from the fact that Black is probably shagging him -”

Remus thinks, _I’m going to pass out_ , and he must say it aloud because the argument stops suddenly, and the last thing he’s aware of is half the class staring at him, before he does just that.

::

It’s dark when Remus wakes up, but he’s been here enough times by now to recognise even the smells of the Hospital Wing. He moves his neck from side to side, which feels incredibly stiff, but at least the pillow is soft, and the room is quiet. Quiet, until -

“Hey,” says a voice in the dark, and Remus would yell if he had the energy, but then his vision focuses and he sees Sirius sat at his bedside.

“What are you doing here? It must be the middle of the night.”

“Snuck in as Padfoot,” Sirius says carelessly. “Pomfrey won’t kick me out anyway, she likes me.”

“I can’t believe I fainted in class,” Remus says, closing his eyes as the memory comes back to him. “How embarrassing. Please tell me I at least headbutted Snape on my way down or something.”

He hears the laugh in Sirius’ throat as he replies. “He was being a prat.”

He doesn’t bring up what Snape said before Remus passed out, which Remus is grateful for. If he’s lucky he can probably just pretend that he doesn’t remember that last bit. He supposes that they’ll have to talk about it at some point, this - whatever it is, between them - but the thought of doing it on the evening before a full moon, when his mouth tastes like vomit, when it’s Valentine’s Day - no, Remus isn’t ready for that.

It’s not dating, Remus is fairly sure of that. They haven’t even kissed, for Merlin’s sake, and there were some days over the Christmas break when Remus was so wound up and confused about the notebook incident that he wanted to simultaneously knock Sirius’ head into the Potter’s wall, and wanted to kiss him stupid. Remus has only just started to admit to himself that that’s what he wants, and sometimes he thinks that’s what Sirius wants too - but at the moment they’re stuck in some sort of holding pattern with feather-light, electric touches where their hands meet, and late-night-early-morning conversations with their heads on each other’s shoulders, and yet _no one says anything._

Remus definitely agrees with Peter about the arranged marriage concept. Simpler, cleaner.

“Talk to me about something,” he says. “Why did James break up with Tabitha?”

He can hear the rustling of Sirius shifting in his chair, and Sirius shifting about usually means he’s stalling. For a moment Remus is sure that Sirius isn’t going to tell him, that he’d consider it breaking some sort of code between him and James, but then he says, “So - do you know that they nearly, uh - they nearly -”

Sirius is stuttering over it so much that Remus smiles. “I think I can guess what they nearly did.”

“Right. So - James told me, it was a couple of weeks after getting back after the holidays, but he’d told me he’d been having doubts about Tabitha anyway -”

“Why’d he want to sleep with her if he was having doubts?” Remus asks, nose wrinkled, but then realises how silly that question is. “Right. Walking bag of hormones. Continue.”

“Well nothing happened,” Sirius says. “They were going to, but then James said - they were kissing, fooling around, you know, and - he, well, uh, he called her Lily by mistake.”

This, Remus does open his eyes at, although Sirius is a shadow again. Remus breathes out.

“Wow. Poor Tabitha.”

“I think she nearly took his balls off, to be honest.”

“I’m not surprised,” Remus says. “That has to be hurtful.”

“He’s so embarrassed about it, the great poof.”

Remus feels kind of bad now, about getting Sirius to tell him. He imagines if his embarrassing innermost thoughts were spread about, and he feels himself blushing. He blesses the darkness, and closes his eyes again, mostly to avoid having to look at Sirius. Feelings, he thinks, with great distaste - who’d want them?


	63. hopeless cases.

_Late February 1976._

Lily climbs the winding stone steps to the Owlery, grateful for the rush of air on her face as she reaches the circular, windowless room at the top. Skeletons of tiny creatures crunch under her shoes as she scans the rows of the school birds, deciding which one to take, and the soft hooting from all around her combines with the rustling of hay to make a soothing, outdoorsy sound. If Lily closes her eyes she could easily imagine that she’s on holiday with her family, camping like they used to do when her and Petunia were much younger, back when Lily could pitch a tent nearly as well as her father and they all ate lukewarm baked beans cooked over a fire she’d help make.

She’d be quite happy to stay up here, perched on one of the window ledges the owls use for take off, and watch the clouds hanging fat and lazy in the sky as the sun rises higher and higher above the swaying trees. It’s a Saturday, and she has nowhere particular to be.

But she can’t. She has a letter to send, and then there’s a foreboding stack of homework and revision sat waiting for her in the Gryffindor common room. Her plan had been to get up early, send the letter home to her dad, and then curl up in her favourite armchair with her books and not leave until Mary and Dorcas remind her to go to dinner.

Lily looks at the envelope in her hand. The edges are creased from where she’s been gripping it tightly. The letter had ended up being quite bulky, and she looks around for the biggest owl she can find that won’t draw too much attention suddenly appearing in her street. 

She’s started to write to her parents a lot more often, since hearing about her dad’s lung cancer, and the Evans family exchange letters now at least twice a week. Her parents don’t write about anything particularly interesting - they tend to gloss over her dad’s treatments and how he’s doing, except to sprinkle in a few encouraging and upbeat lines towards the close of the correspondence - and Lily keeps her letters short and funny, little tidbits of the magical world that she’s sure won’t scare her parents. She’ll send them clippings from The Daily Prophet, which has started to play down the attacks and atrocities, and instead Lily sends her parents articles probably intended to take everyones minds off of the fact that these terrible things are still happening. Last time she’d included an article about an incident at the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office that involved a singing kettle that had wound up in a Muggle granny’s kitchen and how she’d entered it into the local village talent content and won. She’d been thrilled, apparently, before the Ministry workers turned up and confiscated the kettle and wiped her memory. They’d let her keep the rosette she won, though.

Today though, Lily’s letter has questions. They’ve been dancing around the subject for long enough, and now she wants answers. She knows her dad is going to see a specialist in London, and her parents haven’t really hinted at if that is a good thing or a bad thing. Good, because he’ll be getting care? Or bad, because he needs a specialist? Lily’s had enough of hiding the unpleasantries, in both of her worlds, and she hesitates for only a moment before tying the letter to a large brown owl and seeing it take off out of the window. 

She watches it soar out into the wide expanse of sky until it’s just a speck in the distance, and by then the sound of footsteps ascending the steps lets her know that she has company. She doesn’t need to turn around to know that it’s Sirius; those great big clomping boots he wears on weekends make a right racket, and she’s heard the sound enough in the common room to recognise it.

“Wotcher, Evans,” Sirius says, and Lily offers him a brief smile in greeting as she turns around to leave. Sirius doesn’t move out of her way however, blocking the narrow exit to the steps. “Evans? You all right?”

“I’m fine,” she says, not in the mood for conversations. “Honestly, Sirius, please, just let me by -”

“Are you still angry at the little spat we had a few weeks ago?” Sirius asks, frowning.

Lily has to think for a moment to recall what ‘little spat’ he’s referring to. It doesn’t seem that a day goes by without him or his friends annoying her in some way or other, no matter how much friendlier they have become. When she does remember, it does not improve her mood.

“Oh, you mean when you implied that my oldest friend is a Death Eater?” Lily says, eyes widening in exaggeration. “That little old thing?”

“He went to my cousin’s house for Christmas. I thought it only fair that you knew. I’m guessing he didn’t tell you.”

Lily is glad that Sirius is busy with his own letter that he doesn’t see her face flushing. Of course Severus hadn’t told her; he’d lied to her, said he’d been in Spinner’s End all Christmas, and they’d sat and they’d talked nearly all evening when Lily told him about her dad. The thought of it makes her angry all over again, that he’d been there, in her room, had patted her back and held her hand, and just a few hours before he’d been God-knows-where with God-knows-who. 

(”I didn’t think it worth mentioning,” Severus had said when Lily cornered him in the library the day after. “You don’t tell me when you go off to see Meadowes or whoever. We don’t live in each other’s pockets anymore, Lily.”

“You went to the Black’s family dinner. That’s pretty huge!”

“You had more important things going on,” Sev said, his gaze drifting from her face and back down to his books.

She hadn’t managed to get anything more out of him, so ended up storming off and they haven’t spoken in weeks, their short-lived reconcilliation apparently over.)

But still - Sirius Black does not get to pretend that he told her out of the goodness of his heart, and Lily tells him as much.

“Please, you were just looking for a way to get one up on Severus! That’s all that matters to you lot.”

Sirius has finished attaching his letter to a handsome eagle owl, and he carries it perched on his arm to the window. 

“Whatever, Evans. At this point I’m officially going to stop giving you warnings,” he says, not looking at her, lifting his arm so that the owl takes flight.

“I can look after myself,” she snaps.

She goes to leave, and Sirius despite his words can’t seem to help himself; he wheels around, grabbing her by the elbow so that she turns around. Lily raises her eyebrows, looking down at his hand holding her, and he lets go quickly.

“I just know what they’re like,” he mutters, looking as if he wishes this conversation were not happening and yet not being able to not participate in it. “I know how they draw people in, and then how hard it is to get back out. It’s like being stuck in quicksand.” 

He coughs, shoving his hands in his pockets, his cheeks taking on a red tinge she doesn’t often see. Avoiding looking at Lily, he rocks back on the balls of his feet, squinting up at the roosting owls perched high in the rafters instead.

Much more gently, Lily says, “I need to go now. I’ve got a ton of homework.”

“Done Laughton’s essay yet?” Sirius asks, finally glancing her way again, although the general air of embarrassment is still there.

“The history of transportation one? Yeah, finished it days ago. Do you need my notes?”

“Oh, nah, I wasn’t asking for that - mine’s kind of turned into a history of the motorbike though.”

The usual grin appears, and Lily feels like she’s talking to Sirius Black again, or at least the Sirius Black that she’s much more used to dealing with.

“He’ll get annoyed if you keep on turning every assignment into an ode to motorbikes.”

Sirius shrugs. “Maybe. I’m not too sure I’ll be taking it at N.E.W.T level though, so I s’pose it doesn’t really matter.”

“But,” Lily says, frowning, “you love Muggle Studies!” After saying it, she pauses, thinking the validity of that statement over. True, Sirius loves motorbikes and messing around with plugs and electric, but he does tend to zone out a bit whenever Professor Laughton attempts to steer the discussions into the realms of politics or history. “Don’t you?” she finishes, uncertainly.

“Well, it’s all right,” Sirius says carelessly. “I more took it to annoy my family, really. I was just thinking, not too sure how useful it’ll be in the future. Compared to the other subjects especially. I mean, I don’t want to go into Muggle Relations or anything, and I’m not sure when I’ll even need to hook up a television or know who their Prime Minister is -”

“Right,” Lily says, unable to stop her voice from going steely again.

Sirius is looking uncomfortable again, apparently realising his error. 

“Oh, piss, I’ve offended you again, haven’t I?”

Lily’s reply is terse. “It’s all right, people can’t seem to help it nowadays. Must be a pesky side effect of being Muggle-born.”

“Evans, you know I’d never - we’re mates, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Lily says with a sigh. She wishes she’d just left when she had the chance. “It just means not only do I have to put up with living in a world where I’m made to feel like a second class citizen and my own world is insignificant, I also have to feel like that around people who are my _mates_.”

::

James Potter likes to think that he’s quite an uncomplicated bloke, as far as fifteen-year-old boys go. He needs only a few simple things in life to be happy: his mates, flying, pranks. Until recently ‘girls’ hadn’t ever entered the equation at all. Sure, they were nice enough to look at it, and he got on well with all the girls on the Quidditch team, and he had thought that his respect for Lily Evans was merely a side-effect of seeing her cast a Tongue-Tying Hex on Aegir Wilkes in Third Year. 

Girlfriends weren’t something high on his priority list. He had one disastrous date with Edie March last year, and all right, he’d tried to ask Lily before that - but only as a bit of a laugh, the words charmed on to a bit of toast - and it wasn’t until she’d said no that James realised how disappointed he had been. 

He used to think that he hexed Snape because he was a creep, a greasy little snake who deserved to be Bat-Bogeyed at least four times before lunch, but now, every time James sees Snape talking to Lily, or he hears through the gossip mill that Snape has been seen more frequently in the company of Regulus Black, James thinks about how that’ll hurt Lily, how he’s just not good for her, and his hand itches for his wand twice as hard as ever before.

Lily Evans has made his life complicated.

“James, are you coming to get changed?” Meredith calls, and it’s then that James realises that he’s been flying laps around the Quidditch pitch reflexively, not noticing the rest of the team have landed and practice has finished.

“I think I’ll just hang out here a little longer,” he shouts back.

Meredith shrugs, and the Gryffindor team make their way to the changing rooms. James hovers mid-air for a moment. It’s the weekend, and he’s got a load of things he should probably be doing, but he likes flying by himself. He likes the way he’s completely alone, and he doesn’t have to think too much about anything. Flying is something that has always come completely natural to him, and he doesn’t have to worry about the way he moves or anything like that, it just happens. Plus, if he returns to Gryffindor Tower it’s more than likely that he’ll run into either Lily or Tabitha, and he doesn’t want to see either for a very long time. At least up here in the air, he doesn’t run the risk of any embarrassing confrontations.

He didn’t mean to hurt Tabitha, he thinks, as he applies pressure on to his broom, leaning forward slightly and spurring it into motion again. How long can a girl hold a grudge for anyway? James is at least thankful that the circumstances of his break-up are so mortifying - for both Tabitha and himself - that Tabitha hasn’t told her friends, or anyone else for that matter, the reason why she broke up with him. It means that the Hogwarts students are able to let their imaginations run free with it, and James has heard a few variations on the ending of their relationship - he left her on Valentine’s Day, she broke up with him because he was always with his mates too much - and yet none have come close to the truth, thank Merlin. 

He’d only told Sirius, because when it matters, Sirius isn’t all that bad at listening. He’d been a bit stunned when James told him that he and Tabitha had been going to have sex (James had been a bit bewildered and stunned by the notion himself, to be perfectly honest), and yet when James finished his tale of woe, confiding that he’d said Lily instead of Tabitha (and he feels his face burning even now, just thinking back on it), Sirius hadn’t seemed that surprised. He’d looked pitying, yes, but not surprised.

“You’re kind of a hopeless case, you know that?” Sirius had said, and James had miserably agreed.

The worst part is that he and Lily had been forming something akin to friendship, until James had tried to kiss her after the Quidditch match last year. Now she seems like she’s back to barely tolerating him. James thinks that things were a lot better for him when he didn’t care what Lily Evans thought of him. 

He flies higher, and the whole expanse of the Forbidden Forest unfolds into view in front of him, a mass of dark green. James starts to smile, an idea popping into his head. Even better than flying, when he transforms into the stag, it’s as if he has hardly any worries at all. He feels collected, in control, even when Moony is snarling and throwing himself against the walls of the shack; James has the calm knowledge, somewhere in the part of is brain that grips on to his human thoughts, that he can keep the wolf in check, and that nothing bad will happen. James likes that feeling of security, of his own faith in himself, of the blissful calm. A run in the Forest will do him good, he thinks. He definitely won’t be thinking of girls when the stag takes over.

He becomes aware, then, of another voice shouting him from down on the ground. Coming to a halt, James looks down to see the small shape of Peter waving at him from the bottom of the stands. Trying not to look irritated, James goes into a small dive and lands neatly in front of Peter and dismounts from his broom.

“What’s up?” James asks, pushing his hair back from his face.

“I thought I’d come meet you,” Peter says happily. He’s clutching two pieces of jam on toast and has a large book wedged under one arm. “Thought maybe we could do something. Practice is over, right?”

James can’t exactly lie, not with the empty pitch stretched out behind him. He doesn’t want to tell Peter about going into the Forest - James wants a bit of peace, not the rat sitting between his antlers chittering in his ear, and if left on the ground, James will have to spend the whole time protecting Wormtail from being eaten.

He arranges his face into a smile. “I didn’t have anything planned, but sure. Let me just get changed. What’re you reading, there? Is that for homework? Because I’m not in the mood for studying -”

“Nah,” Peter says, biting into one piece of toast and then holding the other one out for James to take. They start to walk in the direction of the changing rooms. “It’s a book on wizarding geanology that Harrington got me for Christmas. It’s pretty interesting, actually. Do you know, some of the magical families date back to before Merlin.”

Of course James knows this, but he doesn’t say this. He nods thoughtfully, the both of them coming to a stop outside the changing rooms. 

“You know that stuff isn’t important though, right, Pete?”

Peter takes another bite of toast, leaving jam smudged on his upper lip. “Easy for you to say,” he says, rolling his eyes slightly. “Your family begins on page 245 and doesn’t stop until 298.”

James frowns. “I’ll be back in a minute,” he says, opening the door and signalling for Peter to wait there. “Don’t go anywhere.”

It’s a pointless instruction. Of course Peter isn’t going to go anywhere. Instead he sits himself down on the step, balancing the book on his lap and finishes off the rest of his toast.

::

Remus scratches his chin with the feathered end of his quill, pulling his Arithmancy homework closer to him. Furrowing his brow at the question he’s currently struggling with, he sighs and thinks of giving up for the afternoon. He glances up at the other students in the common room. Like him, the upper years are mostly battling with homework and assignments as well. Moira O’Shea is thoughtfully prodding at the leaves of a plant in front of her with the tip of her wand and hastily scribbling down any reactions; and there’s a harried-looking Sixth Year with his head in his hands, fingers clutching at his scalp, mouthing the words of the textbook in front of him over and over again. In direct contrast, Marlene is sat by the fire, whispering something in Meredith’s ear and making her giggle. Remus watches them enviously for a moment, wishing that he could look that carefree and not be worrying about the six equations he’s got left to solve by tomorrow afternoon. From this angle Remus can only see Marlene’s face, Meredith facing the other way, but Remus is willing to bet his last Knut that Meredith has the same contended smile on her face as Marlene does. They make it look so simple, so easy, just being with each other.

Meredith has been at Quidditch practice, and looks twice as muddy as James and Sirius do after a flying session. It must come with the territory of being Captain. Marlene doesn’t seem to mind the mud though; she’s got her legs slung over Meredith’s lap, her arms around her neck, and Remus wonders if this is what relationships are like - people muddying up your things, and you not really caring. He remembers, suddenly, clearly, Sirius last week, kicking his mud-caked boots off of Remus’ bed after throwing himself down on it. Remus had sighed quietly, under his breath, but hadn’t chastised him any more than that. 

“Take a picture if you want,” Marlene calls, raising her voice and her eyebrows in his direction when she catches him staring.

Remus flushes and looks down at his Arithmancy notes. “I wasn’t - sorry - didn’t mean to - you can carry on.”

“Ta, Lupin. That’s very kind of you.” 

Remus can tell by her tone of voice that she’s teasing him. When he looks up again, Marlene winks at him, grinning, and Meredith turns around to address him.

“Hey, Remus, I meant to ask - where’s Sirius?”

“I thought you’d have seen him last.”

“He wasn’t at practice. Not like him to miss it. James stayed on afterwards. He’s probably still flying around the goal hoops. He had no idea where Black slunk off to either.”

Remus frowns. “Sorry, not a clue.”

“You all need Tracking Charms on you, I swear,” Marlene says with a shake of her head. “If he’s off shoving my brother into walls again…”

“Well, when you see him,” Meredith says, standing up, pulling Marlene up by the hand after her, “tell him if he misses another practice, he’s in trouble.” 

“I will,” Remus says faintly, as both girls head in the direction of the staircases. 

He doesn’t have a lot of time to wonder about Sirius’ whereabouts. He’s thinking of perhaps finding James, or Peter - although come to think of it, he has no idea where Peter’s got to either (maybe a Tracking Charm would be useful, he muses) - when Sirius clambers through the portrait hole. He’s in his day robes, his Muggle jeans just visible underneath when he walks, the ridiculous ones with the holes in the knees, and Remus can’t see his Quidditch stuff on him anywhere. He opens his mouth to ask why Sirius skipped practice, when Sirius speaks first, his question driving all thoughts of sports far away.

“Moony, do you ever feel - less - because you’re not Pureblood?”

Remus blinks. “Wow. Is this First Year Sirius Black talking?”

Sirius drops himself into the chair beside Remus, throwing his head back and staring up at the ceiling. From this angle, Remus can see the perfect angle of his jaw, his Adam’s apple moving in his throat as he talks.

“No. Something Evans said, earlier. I think I was a bit of a twat - well, a massive twat -”

“Oh, no,” Remus says quietly. “Between you and James, you really are making it impossible for us to be friends with her, aren’t you?”

“I didn’t mean it,” Sirius says, lifting his head back up. 

His eyes are fiery, his expression set in an affronted scowl. From the set of his mouth, Remus can tell whatever happened, this is Sirius feeling bad about it. For a boy who seems to feel so many, Sirius has never been great at emotions; they all seem to get jumbled on the way to being expressed, and it all ends up as some form of anger. Luckily, Remus can usually work out what he’s really feeling.

“I’m sure she’ll understand,” Remus says. “Whatever it was.”

“Yeah, but -” Sirius fidgets in his seat, and then seems to decide against it all together and stands back up, pacing back and forth, “- but _do you?_ Feel - I dunno, less?”

Remus shrugs. “Mostly I’m too busy feeling less because of my furry little problem.”

Sirius crouches down in front of Remus, one hand on each of Remus’ knees. His hands are hot; Remus can feel them practically burning through his jeans into his skin. It’s a sudden, surprising gesture. Remus is aware, painfully aware, of how close he is.

“You’re not, okay?” Sirius says, his voice low and earnest. “You’re not less. Not because of that, or because of anything. You’re - you’re important, Moony.”

Remus can’t bring himself to look at Sirius, to meet his gaze. Instead he stares at Sirius’ hands on his knees, his fingers splayed against the denim of Remus’ jeans. The backs of his hands are delicate looking, fine blue veins leading up to long fingers, fingers that look as though they’ve never done a hard day’s work in their life. It’s surprising that such fingers belong to someone wearing ripped jeans and who splatters mud all over Remus’ side of the room with reckless abandon. 

Remus swallows hard against the lump in his throat. 

“If you say so.”

“I do.” 

Sirius’ own voice sounds gravelly now. There’s a part of Remus, in the far back of his mind, wondering what this looks like the others in the common room, and then another part of him, smaller but definitely growing in size, loudly declaring that it really couldn’t care less. They haven't ever been this close to each other in public, only shrouded behind the curtains of their beds in the early hours.

Sirius leans forward. Remus sucks in a breath, his heart jack-hammering against his ribcage, but Sirius leans up past his lips, and rests his forehead against Remus’. This, somehow, is infinitely better and worse all at the same time. Remus closes his eyes, and feels the pressure of Sirius gripping one of his knees. He exhales, shakily, gathering every last fibre of his Gryffindor courage, and thinks, _move, just move, move your head down you idiot -_

“Hey, Pads - Moony!”

Remus and Sirius manage to somehow spring apart and forward all at the same time. The result is that Remus bashes his head into Sirius’ eye socket, and Sirius leaps up in an odd hopping motion, one eye closed, looking like some sort of deranged pirate. Remus peers past him, still feeling frozen to his chair, and has never in all his life wanted to see James less than he does right now.

“Hey, Sirius, why weren’t you at practice?” James asks, striding over, and without waiting for an answer he flings himself into the seat next to Remus, and carries on, “I’m worried about Pete - do you think he feels left out? Because he’s got this book, right, and now I don’t know what he’s thinking - he’s been a bit quiet lately, do you think? Am I being paranoid? I don’t know, something seems up -”

“What?” Sirius snaps. “What are you asking? What about bloody Peter?”

James looks wounded. “No need to get shirty with me. I’m just wondering if you think he’s okay.”

“Okay?” Sirius laughs humourlessly. “Last night he had four helpings of pudding. I’ve never seen anyone more okay than Peter.”

James starts to protest, but Remus tunes it out. He starts to gather all of his things up off from the table. His mind is racing, and he thinks if he can just get to the dormitory - if he can just take a shower, take some time - and he’s all too aware of Sirius watching him, eagle-eyed.

“Are you going?” James asks, frowning. “I was hoping you’d help me with my History of Magic.”

“I’m rubbish at History,” Remus says weakly. “I’ve got Arithmancy stuff to do anyway.”

“Looks like it’s you and me, then,” James says glumly, to Sirius. “Do you have your notes, or do you want to use mine? I think I took some…”

As James starts rummaging through his bag, Remus takes a moment to observe Sirius. He’s never seen Sirius look so deeply irritated by James before, or so aghast at the prospect of spending time with him. He covers it well, though, and by the time James emerges from his bag holding a tatty looking bit of parchment with a few scribbles on, Sirius has rearranged his face into an expression resembling pleasant.

Remus opens his mouth to say something, but then realises there’s nothing he can say that won’t seem deeply weird or suspicious in front of James. He swallows, instead making a strange gurgling sound - James looks at him, perplexed - and then without another glance at Sirius he speed walks to the dormitory, his pulse only just returning to normal by the time he reaches the top of the stairs.


	64. the birthday gift.

_March 1976_

Remus wakes up on the morning of his sixteenth birthday with a feeling of apprehension. He stretches out, his feet hitting the bottom of the bed, and opens his eyes slowly, fully expecting to be met with a cream-filled cake to the face, or a claxon going off in his ear. There’s none of that, though; his eyelids open and he’s staring up at his canopy bed, which is the same dark and shadowy crimson it always is, not strewn with decorations or fit to bursting with helium balloons in the shape of Sirius’ head, like the ones he got last year. 

Beyond the curtains of his four-poster, Remus can hear rain hitting the dormitory window, but not much else. No shushing, no whispering, no giggles that usually precede his friends jumping out at him. It’s the way the Marauders celebrate birthdays, after all; a good old jump scare in the morning, usually before the receipient is fully awake, and then cake always follows, no matter what ungodly hour in the morning it is. Some form of good natured teasing or humiliation comes after, and a lot of birthday thumps, which James and Sirius swear is traditional but really Remus thinks it’s just another excuse for them to get into a wrestling match. 

Remus flings the covers back and opens his curtains. Although it’s early, the other three beds are empty. Remus has a shower and dresses without anyone hiding behind the shower curtain or anything lurking in his sock drawer, and he realises that the apprehension that he had been feeling upon waking was actually more like excitement, expectation; he’s gotten used to his birthdays being made a fuss of, even if usually that fuss is humiliating and exasperating, and the absence of it all is jarring.

Walking down the staircase to the common room, Remus spots the backs of his friends’ heads as they’re all sat together on the sofa, and feels relieved. He doesn’t know what he expected, if he thought they’d forgotten his birthday altogether or just wouldn’t be there when he arrived, but the sight of Peter, James, and Sirius lifts his spirits considerably. As he gets closer, the coffee table comes into view, and he smiles as he sees the bundle of presents and one red balloon tied to a nearby lamp.

“Happy birthday, Moony!” Sirius says, spotting him first. 

“Sixteen!” James says with a grin, seizing Remus’ hand. 

“Yeah, it’ll be good to have another grown-up about the place with these two young’uns,” Sirius says, pointing at James and Peter.

James looks affronted. “I’m sixteen in two weeks!”

“And me in less than a month!” Peter chimes in.

“Enough, children,” Sirius says commandingly. “Today is about Remus.” 

He pats the space next to him and Remus sits down, taking care not to knock knees or accidentally touch Sirius. Since the other week when Remus had nearly kissed him, all of the confidence that Remus had felt in that moment has run away and hid in a corner. Frankly, Remus is sick of the jolts of excitement in the pit of his stomach whenever he accidentally brushes up against Sirius, he’s tired of feeling like he has a hook behind his naval being tugged every time Sirius looks at him and smiles in a particular way. 

It’s not fair, that Sirius gets to control his emotions this way; that Sirius can call him important and make Remus feel wonderful; that he can look at him as if there’s no one else in the room and lean his head against Remus’, being so close that Remus thought he might pass out; that Sirius can share a bed with him and fall asleep with his head on Remus’ shoulder; that he can do all of this and yet do nothing at the exact same time. It’s confusing, and frustrating, and since that evening Remus has been making a more conscious effort to reduce their physical contact and see if Sirius seeks him out in that particular way again, to see if it’s all in Remus’ head or not. 

So far, Sirius has been annoyingly normal. If he notices Remus’ distance, he hasn’t commented on it. They haven’t shared a bed since, and Sirius has only tried once - Remus complained of aching bones and needing a good night’s sleep, and Sirius had said, “Okay, whatever you need,” and gone back to his own bed without complaint. Remus had wanted him to stay, had wanted him to seem - hurt, maybe, or rejected - but then Remus thinks that Sirius probably can’t feel rejected if he never wanted Remus in the first place. 

“You didn’t wake me this morning,” Remus says, aiming for a casual tone and hoping it doesn’t come across as accusatory. He forces a chuckle. “I was half-expecting a mountain of streamers or fireworks to explode under my pillow.”

Sirius shrugs. “We thought you didn’t like the fuss. That you’d appreciate a bit of a lie-in.”

Sirius is usually the orchestrator of the birthday plans, the driving force behind all the celebrations. Now, Remus wonders if maybe this is Sirius’ reaction to Remus’ distance, that he’s witholding the usual over-the-top festivities as some sort of punishment. Remus frowns. Sirius wouldn’t be that cruel, would he? A voice in the back of mind whispers, _of course he would_ , and Remus quashes it instantly, feeling hot and ashamed.

Sirius is nudging a present into his hands. “Here you go.”

“Is this from you?” Remus asks.

“We kind of got you joint presents this year,” James says. “So this one -” he nods to the thin, square present in Remus’ lap, “- and those other two on the table are from all of us, but they go together. It’s sort of all one present.”

“You’ll see,” Peter says, grinning. “Open them!”

The first present is a record. Remus stares down at it - it’s a band he has never heard of, The Electric Pumpkins, the front cover depicting a man with long black hair (the main singer, he supposes) on stage posing with a guitar in front of an empty audience. 

“It’s the band we were listening to that time at James’,” Sirius says, watching him intently. “You said you liked it.”

“Oh,” Remus says. “Thank you.”

Sirius passes him another gift. It’s wrapped identically to the first one. Remus raises an eyebrow at Sirius, but he just gestures at Remus to open it. Sure enough, it’s another record, but a familiar one this time - not a wizarding band, but a Muggle one. Remus recognises the prism design on the front cover as Pink Floyd’s _Dark Side of the Moon_ , and he frowns.

“You guys,” he says haltingly, “this is really great, thank you, really, but you know I don’t have -” he breaks off, seeing the final present on the table. It’s big, and square, and suddenly James’ words about it all being one present makes sense. “You got me a record player?” he says, staring around at the three of them.

Sirius smiles. “You’ve mentioned your mum’s one at home a lot, and I thought, well, it would be cool to have your own. And one you can keep at school!”

“It’s a special design, see, the Muggle ones can’t play wizarding music - they just sound like scratched records, drives Muggles mad - but this one is a wizarding one! Released just last year,” James explains.

“Sirius picked The Electric Pumpkin’s album,” Peter says, “and I suggested Pink Floyd!”

“He asked Lily and Mary and nearly every other Muggle-born student, is what he means,” Sirius whispers to him, and then grins. “So, are you going to open it?”

“We have twenty minutes before breakfast finishes, we could pop one of the records on!” Peter says.

Remus shakes his head. “No, not now - how about tonight?” he adds quickly, noticing his friend’s disappointed looks. “It’s a great present, really. I love it. I don’t want to rush it, that’s all. I’ll take it to the dorm, and we can play them tonight - I mean, if you don’t have plans?”

He’s pretty sure that outright asking if they’ve planned a party is rude, so he doesn’t. It doesn’t stop him from feeling disappointed, though, when Sirius says, “Nah, we don’t have anything planned - we’ll play them tonight then, if that’s what you want!”

Remus returns their smiles, all the while feeling like the world’s worst, most ungrateful friend.

::

For the rest of the day, Remus carries around the feeling of guilt like a small, squashed bundle in his stomach. He has friends who have given him a great birthday present, and yet he’s not completely happy. What kind of person does that make him? Just because they’re not acting like the usually do on birthdays, and they’re not bellowing a happy birthday song in his ear at mealtimes, and they haven’t organised a party for him - they still care. Peter still gives him the last piece of bacon at breakfast, and James still pours him a cup of tea first, and Sirius lets him choose where to sit in History of Magic rather than dragging him straight to the back. 

“Get a grip, Lupin,” Remus tells himself during morning break, staring at his reflection in the boy’s bathroom mirror. 

He’s gotten too complacent, he thinks darkly to himself. When he was eleven, he never would have dreamed he would have friends at all, and here he is five years later getting upset because his friends aren’t - what? Being friendly enough? Remus would laugh, if he didn’t hate himself so much right now.

Still, he can’t shake the feeling that it all has something to do with Sirius. If it was James’ birthday, or even Peter’s, Remus can’t help but suspect it would be vastly different. They’d probably get a party thrown for them, or sixteen birthday thumps, or a cake smashed into their face. That’s Sirius’ way of showing his affection, after all. Something that Remus apparently does not have, or at least not to the same degree.

Gloomily, Remus emerges from the bathroom and heads to Arithmancy, a whole hour that he doesn’t have to spend in the company of Sirius, wondering what he’s thinking and trying to decipher his looks. At the rate this is going, Remus is starting to think that he’ll have to pick his NEWT options based on the classes that Sirius isn’t taking. Still, he finds his concentration isn’t entirely there in Arithmancy either, and Professor Orpington has to call him name twice before Remus realises he’s being asked a question.

After lessons and dinner, all Remus really wants to do is go to bed, but his friends are all up in the room by the time he gets there, looking at him expectantly. The record player has been opened, he sees, and placed on a table near his bed.

“You opened my present?” Remus asks, dropping his bag on the floor. It’s a churlish question, he knows, and he feels like a child for the way he says it, but the ball of feelings in his stomach has been roiling and churning all day, and now he feels more frustration than anything else.

“Well, you didn’t seem to want to,” Sirius says, lifting his chin and staring at Remus defiantly.

Peter and James swap a look. James jumps up from his bed and says, “You know what we need? Some food. I’m going to go to the kitchens - Peter, coming?”

“Absolutely,” Peter says, scrambling up as well.

Sirius waits until the door closes behind them before he says, “All right, Remus, what’s up with you today?”

“What?” Remus says. 

Sirius is sat cross-legged on his own bed. He doesn’t take his gaze from Remus as he moves around the room, taking off his shoes, putting his books away. Remus wishes he would just stop watching him.

“You’re being weird. The moon isn’t for another two weeks. It’s your birthday. You should be happy!”

“Oh, well, thank goodness I’ve got you here to tell me how I’m supposed to feel,” Remus snaps.

Sirius blinks at him. For a moment he looks surprised, but then a carefully blank expression forms on his face. 

“I would chalk this up to puberty,” Sirius says, maddeningly calm, “but then I didn’t start acting like a complete tosser the moment I turned sixteen.”

Remus sighs as he takes a seat on his bed, opposite Sirius. He looks across at him but finds he doesn’t know what words to use to begin to describe how he’s feeling. In his head it all seems to stupid, so pointless, and yet the feelings are so real he has to grip his hands together to stop them clenching into fists.

“What’s the matter?” Sirius prompts. “You didn’t like the presents?”

“No, they’re great,” Remus says wearily. “I just - this is going to sound mad -”

“And you acting like you’re possessed is normal?” Sirius asks, eyebrows raised. “Remus. It’s me.”

 _You’re the problem,_ Remus thinks. 

Instead, he takes a breath, and says, “How come today has been different? From other birthdays?” From Sirius’ look Remus can tell he doesn’t have a clue what he’s talking about, so he continues, without really stopping to think about what comes tumbling out of his mouth, “I mean, there’s been no exploding anything, no thumping, no party - it’s like you’re mad at me or something, and I don’t understand because things were - we were - unless that’s why things are weird now?”

“I have no idea what you’re saying,” Sirius tells him. “Although I suspect that’s because you haven’t actually said it yet.”

Remus makes a frustrated noise, and Sirius stands up. He does a quick lap of the room and then turns around, frowning deeply at Remus as if trying to read his mind.

“Okay. I’m trying to make sense of what you’re on about. You’re mad because - what, I didn’t jump on your face this morning and put custard in your socks? That we haven’t pulled a prank in your honour, or we haven’t organised a big birthday blow-out?”

Remus nods, just once, the guilt still curling in his stomach. Sirius saying it makes it all seem a lot more petty than it did inside his own head.

“Remus,” Sirius says, shaking his head. “We didn’t do anything like that because we thought you hated it. We thought, just once, you’d like to wake up on your birthday without a blaring siren, that you’d like to exchange gifts in a civilised manner, and spend the evening just the four of us. We weren’t - I didn’t mean anything bad by it. I was trying to do what you wanted.”

“You were trying?”

“James and Peter wanted a party,” Sirius says. “I convinced them not to.”

“I thought it was because you were mad at me,” Remus says, his voice small.

“Why would I be mad at you, you idiot?” Sirius is looking at him as if he’s gone crazy. Remus feels slightly like he is. “I thought you were mad at me! I thought the last thing you wanted was me leaping about all over you, causing a fuss -”

“But that’s what you do! That’s how you show you - you care, right? It’s like the Sirius Black seal of approval or something.”

Sirius sits back down. He looks like he needs the support. 

“Sometimes, Moony,” he says slowly, “sometimes, I show I care in other ways. I thought you knew that. Ways like - listening to you, and trying to have a bit more - decorum, or sensibility, or whatever it is you like.” Hollowly, Sirius laughs. “You are so hard to figure out!”

Remus’ head snaps up to look at him. “I’m hard to figure out? How was I supposed to interpret a complete turn-around in your actions?”

“Well, you are the clever one,” Sirius says, and then smiles weakly. “I mean - in theory. Apparently, in practice, not so much.”

“But - you called me important. The other week. You made me feel special, and then -”

“And then James came in and you ran away.” Sirius rubs a hand over his jaw, looking tired. “Moony, you literally ran away from me. I don’t understand how I’m the confusing one here. I thought that meant you wanted me to back off.”

“All that meant was that James has spectacularly bad timing!” Remus says, his voice strangled and strange. 

“But then you didn’t want to share a bed.”

Remus feels more confused that he ever has done. He doesn’t quite understand how he’s ended up feeling like he’s the one that’s wronged Sirius, that he’s been the one toying with his emotions. Sirius is looking hurt, and Remus feels the inappropriate urge to laugh, and he wonders, absurdly, where on earth James and Peter are with that food -

“Moony, I like you,” Sirius says, startling Remus so much that he flinches instinctively as though burned. “I’m sorry if I’ve been - confusing. But it’s just, there’s so much going on, you know? There’s school, and my family, not to mention this bloody war - I mean, inconvenient timing to be having feelings, right?”

Sirius’ eyes are searching, and Remus realises that he’s looking for an answer. Remus nods. 

“Yeah,” he croaks. “Pretty inconvenient.”

“I haven’t really been sure of what’s been going on. It’s all so - jumbled, in my head. I didn’t know what you felt, if it was the same -”

“What do you feel?” Remus asks, clinging to the last drops of bravery and hope left inside him.

“Like I said,” Sirius says, his voice steady. “I like you, Remus. And I’ve been telling myself it’s because we’re friends. _Best_ friends. But - it’s different with you, from how it is with James - because he’s like my brother, y’know, and Pete is - Pete is Pete - and then I thought, well, maybe this is just how some friendships are, right, but if James and Peter feel this way about each other then they need a medal for keeping it that close to the chest.” Sirius laughs, some shakiness weaving it’s way into his tone, and he says again, “I like you, Remus. I’m not sure what it means, completely, but I thought - I thought you knew?”

“I - I thought I did,” Remus says. He looks away from Sirius, because Sirius’ eyes are over-bright and burning, and Remus feels like he might just set on fire if he looks too long. “I thought it was just me, being stupid - but - I like you too.”

“Like you like James and Peter?” Sirius asks.

Remus stares at the bedspread. Shakes his head. 

He hears Sirius exhale. “Right. Right. Okay. That’s - that’s good.”

Remus finally meets his gaze. “Is it?” he asks. “Sirius, you just said yourself - you don’t completely know what it means.”

“No,” Sirius agrees. He smiles, then, slowly, his whole face changing. “No, but I know we’re sixteen and we don’t have to have it all worked out, right?”

Remus thinks about this. It makes sense. 

“You’re unnerving when you’re sensible.”

Sirius laughs, a deep, throaty sound. “Yeah, so you’ve said.”

Remus smiles back at him, hesitantly at first, but Sirius’ smile is contagious, always has been, and within seconds Remus is grinning at him, feeling as if a lead weight has been lifted from his shoulders. The guilt has gone from his stomach, replaced with a swirling feeling deep in his gut, lighter and more hopeful than anything Remus has ever felt before. The last time he felt like this, he was twelve-years-old and Sirius was telling him he didn’t care that Remus was a werewolf, and before that, he was eleven-years-old and Dumbledore was in his kitchen asking if he’d like to go to school - and it makes sense, it’s right, that out of the happiest moments of Remus’ life, Sirius Black is in most of them.


	65. an invitation.

_April 1976_

As the second son of a pure and noble house, Regulus has never had to share. Sirius may have come before him and been lavished with everything he could ever want, but that does not mean that Regulus ever had to endure the embarrassment of second-hand robes or hand-me-down anything, like any sort of common half-blood or Weasley. The Blacks prided themselves on always having an excess of everything, and so Regulus never had to squabble over toys or books or share a bedroom. His own room had been waiting for him as soon as he graduated from the nursery. Regulus even had his own path carved out for him from the moment he drew breath, and so there was never any need to share any part of his vision for his future either. His future was exactly that: his. And Sirius had his own. Both noble callings, both important, both designed by their parents, but decidedly seperate. 

There were countless “heir and spare” jokes tossed his way when Regulus was growing up but these never bothered him. Once, the tease had come from Bellatrix, and Sirius, nine-years-old and full of self-importance, had sneered and said, “At least Reg is a boy. Your family got cursed with three spares, how simply humiliating,” and Bellatrix had fumed, cursed Regulus’ ears closed, and flounced from the drawing room.

Regulus never felt pressured to follow in his brother’s footsteps simply because he knew he had his own path mapped out for him. As the second son all that was expected of Regulus was that he uphold the family name and traditions, that he marry well and produce his own line of spares. He’d have more freedom than Sirius in that Regulus would be able to travel more and maybe even take the time time to get to know his intended before the marriage contract was drawn up; for Sirius, there was more sense of urgency.

All things considered, Regulus had quite enjoyed his life as the spare. Until the news came that Sirius had been Sorted wrong, and that was when it all went downhill. 

He still remembers when the owl came from Cissy in the early hours of September 2nd, a whole day before Sirius bothered to send his own. Regulus remembers his mother snapping at Kreacher to “read it again, you damned elf, you must have read that wrong,” and her threatening to throw Kreacher into the fire for insolence until she’d snatched the letter from him and read it herself, the parchment trembling from where she clutched it in her well-manicured hands. 

Orion had retreated into his study and Walburga had locked herself in her bedroom and composed Howler after Howler, and Regulus had been left alone in the kitchen with the letter sitting on the dining table, creased from where his mother had been gripping it so tightly. Regulus had moved to grab it, but Kreacher Vanished it before he could, muttering about bad business and his poor mistress and what mischief has the young Master got himself into this time, he will break his Mother’s heart.  
.  
There were talks of pulling Sirius out of Hogwarts, of complaining to the school board, to Dumbledore, to the Minister. The Blacks never let anyone on the outside see the cracks though. Walburga sent the Howler of course but after that mostly kept her opinions to inside of Grimmauld Place. Sirius may have been a disgrace but he was still the heir, and the first born son of Walburga and Orion Black should not suffer the insult of being gossiped about by Parkinsons and other families not clean enough to make the Sacred 28. For months, Walburga would not listen to anyone who offered their sympathies (”we don’t need pity, Regulus,” she had told him. “Blacks are above it.”) and she would instead focus on all the things Sirius was doing right. Good grades in nearly all of his subjects, friends with a Potter ("dubious ideals,” his father whispered, and his mother bit back, “yes, but _pure_.”) and it wasn’t until Sirius came home for his first break at Christmas that the cracks really began to show.

Andromeda had not yet been burned from the tapestry and had been at Christmas lunch with them all. Bellatrix had been there with Rodolphus and Narcissa did not yet have Lucius Malfoy hanging on her arm at every family function. She still talked incessantly of him, of course, and flashed her diamond ring at anyone who cared to act interested (which was actually only Andromeda, who despite everything was always actually endlessly patient with both her sisters, or who had appeared to at any rate; and Aunt Druella, who talked of nothing but flower arrangements and wedding robes and who was nearly as dull as Narcissa about the whole thing); Walburga had little interest in marriages beyond the practicalities of such unions and the status of those involved, and had snapped at Narcissa to stop shining that diamond in her face, it’s unbecoming of a Black to flaunt things so obviously, and didn’t this Malfoy have any decorum or decency where these things were concerned?

“Probably compensating for something,” Sirius had said.

Regulus hadn’t understood but Narcissa shrieked all the same. 

“It’s a token of his love,” she said primly.

“He’s still a git,” Sirius muttered.

Andromeda had hid her smirk in her napkin. In the end that’s how she’d payed them all, Slytherin cunning through and through. Sly and clever enough to fool them all; no one in their family had seen her betrayal coming, least of all her two sisters. Sirius’ rebellion had been screaming them all in the face nearly every day, and when Regulus tries to pinpoint an event or a single time that led to it all, one person keeps coming up.

“I will thank you not to use that common language, Sirius,” Mother had said, and Sirius shifted in his seat, looking uncomfortable. “Is that James Potter’s influence? I would have thought the son of Jasper and Althea Potter would be better bred and not so - coarse.”

“Really,” Father said, his tone indicating that using the word ‘git’ was exactly what he thought the son of Jasper and Althea Potter would do, and much worse besides.

Sirius scowled. “Potter is all right.”

_Potter is all right_ was really the beginning of it all, Regulus thinks. Perhaps everything wouldn’t have turned out so terrible if Sirius had been in Gryffindor but James Potter was far, far away, unable to fill his brother’s head with nonsense. _Potter is all right_ became _James is so funny_ , scribbled in letters home to Regulus, and _James had the best idea the other day_ ; and then, in Regulus’ first year at Hogwarts, _This is my best mate, James Potter_ , and _Sorry Reg, can’t show you around the castle, got detention with James_ ; and _don’t say that about James, Regulus, he’s a good person_ ; and _James is like a brother to me_ , overheard in the school corridors in Regulus’ third year, leaving Regulus with a strange hollow feeling deep in his stomach.

It was in Regulus’ third year that he realised that it wasn’t just a case of his and Sirius’ paths becoming more distant; Sirius’ path was rapidly becoming _his_. 

Perhaps their parents hadn’t been so blind to their eldest son’s ways and had been altering plans accordingly ever since. Walburga and Orion, master planners that they are, had simply rearranged the pieces of the game, reshuffled the deck; really it had been silly of Regulus to think they didn’t have a back-up plan. Of course they did. He wasn’t just the spare; he was option number two.

Cressida Carrow began to hang around Regulus more and more in his third year and for a while Regulus thought that she was wanting information on Sirius, until he’d noticed that she was batting her eyelashes at him. Regulus had never had anything that was intended for his brother before, and Barty had rolled his eyes and said couldn’t Regulus see what was happening?

It’s the week before the Easter break when whatever is happening, happens in earnest. At breakfast Regulus watches one of the family owls swoop in with the other post. Pyxis drops an envelope in front of Regulus but instead of settling down for a bite of toast, she circles over to the Gryffindor table and drops an identical letter next to Sirius. Regulus watches as Sirius stares, first at the bird and then at the envelope, and then over at Regulus. Regulus tries to convey that he has no idea what this is about either - their parents hardly ever write to Sirius - but before he can do anything Sirius calmly picks up his wand and, looking at Regulus all the while, sets the envelope on fire. 

From across the hall Regulus hears Pettigrew yelp, his sleeve getting scorched by the flame, and he sees Potter and Lupin lean in to talk to Sirius. Sirius shrugs them off and gets up from the table.

“Your brother is so dramatic,” Barty says to Regulus, as McGonagall waylays Sirius on his way out, presumably docking him a few points for setting things alight at breakfast.

Sirius scowls at McGonagall and carries on his way. Regulus thinks he’s just going to storm out, make a big exit, but Sirius is coming towards the Slytherin table. The atmosphere of those around Regulus changes the instant Sirius gets within earshot. Barty and Evan, sitting on either side of Regulus, shift imperceptibly closer to him. All along the table the Slytherins glare at Sirius as he comes to a stop in front of Regulus, but none so much as Cressida, sat nearby with her friends. _Hell hath no fury_ , Regulus thinks idly, and then faces his brother, doing his best to keep his expression neutral. He knows that will bother Sirius the most, if he appears unperturbed by his presence. Barty is right, after all; his brother is dramatic, and Regulus refuses to entertain him by making a big scene in public.

“Sirius,” he says cordially.

Across from him, Aegir takes his wand from his pocket and lays it clearly on the table, his hand resting lightly atop it. Regulus looks at him and frowns, shakes his head very slightly, and Aegir puts his wand away again, looking sulky.

“That’s right, you tell your little lapdogs what to do,” Sirius sneers. 

“Can I help you, Sirius?” Regulus asks.

“Yeah, you seem a bit lost,” Aegir says, turning around to face Sirius. “The idiot table is over there in red and gold.”

Regulus sighs, very quietly. Sometimes he feels he is surrounded by imbeciles. His friends mean well, he knows, but honestly, name-calling and wands drawn at the table is so common.

“Just wanting a chat with my dear brother,” Sirius says, a grim smile appearing on his face. He looks back at Regulus. “You tell them, whatever it is, whatever they want - I’m not interested.”

“I don’t know what they want,” Regulus says, indicating his own letter which he has yet had chance to open.

“I want them to leave me alone!”

“We have left you alone,” Regulus snaps at last. “We’ve left you to your own devices for nearly three years now, what more do you want? They’re our parents, Sirius, and if they want to write to us -”

“They’re not my parents,” Sirius says coldly. “I don’t care what anyone says.”

Regulus can feel a headache coming on. Regaining his composure, he lowers his tone and says, “This isn’t about what anyone says, it’s about blood. You can’t deny what you are.”

“God, you sound like Bellatrix,” Sirius scoffs.

Regulus raises his eyebrows at the terminology. “And you sound like a Muggle.”

“Better a Muggle than a twisted, evil -”

Potter appears at Sirius’ side, Lupin and Pettigrew a few steps behind. Regulus quickly glances along the table; the appearance of four of the most annoying Gryffindors in the school at the Slytherin table is not what most of his house-mates want first thing in the morning. At the other end of the table, Severus has stopped eating and is watching the four of them with a dark expression on his face.

“C’mon, Sirius, we have Herbology,” Potter says, tugging on Sirius’ arm. “They’re not worth getting into anything over.”

Regulus bites back a comment about his brother being a lapdog of his own. He stares coolly at Potter. He dislikes everything about this boy, from his ridiculous hair to his smarmy grin to the hand on his brother’s arm.

“I didn’t start this,” Regulus says. “He came over and bothered me.”

Lupin steps forward. Next to Sirius and Potter, Regulus always thinks that Lupin looks pale, almost fading away and blurry at the edges. He reaches out and puts a hand on Sirius’ shoulder, and in that instant he looks more solid than Regulus has ever seen him.

“Let’s go,” he says quietly, and Sirius finally allows himself to be led away by the both them. They rejoin Pettigrew, who shoots a nervous look over his shoulder as they go, and the four of them leave the Great Hall together.

“I hate them all,” Aegir says instantly. “You should have let me hex them.”

Evan finishes off the last of his pumpkin juice. “Terribly bad manners to curse someone before your breakfast has settled,” he says jovially.

Barty is looking at Regulus. “Are you okay?”

Regulus nods. “Of course. My brother is a lout. We should probably get to Potions,” he adds to Aegir and Evan.

“Slughorn won’t mind that his prized collection is a few minutes late,” Evan says with a grin. 

“I’ve got Transfiguration, spare me a thought,” Barty groans. “McGonagall is such a troll.”

Regulus smiles slightly as he gets up from the table. He gathers up his bag and, lastly, the envelope sealed with his family crest. He stares at it momentarily and then stows it in his bag for later.

The letter sits in his bag for the whole day. It’s not unusual for Regulus to receive letters from home - far from it; he’s in constant correspondence with his parents and cousins - but he can’t remember the last time Sirius got a letter from them. 

Regulus waits until the school day is over and he’s back in the common room before he opens it. Barty is sat with him, working on a Charms essay, and Aegir and Evan are playing cards on the sofa behind them. They’d all been needling Regulus about the letter for the whole day and he doesn’t really want an audience when he opens it, so he waits for a while until they all look suitably distracted - Barty scribbling furiously, ink flying; Evan accusing Aegir of cheating - until he opens the envelope and pulls the letter out.

_Regulus,_

_The holidays are fast approaching and as ever I would like to request your presence at home._

_I have extended the invitation to your brother. As you know our door has always been open for him during the holidays and yet he chooses to stay at school instead. This has gone on for far too long and so I have felt it necessary to send a formal invitation for him to return home in the hopes that he will finally listen. Regulus, I am entrusting you to ensure that your brother does not shirk his familial duty this time._

_It is my wish that you both join me for a spot of lunch at Moreau’s after your train arrives in London. Kreacher will meet you at King’s Cross to take your luggage. Again, Regulus, it is imperative that your brother attends. Please see to it._

_Separate letters are to follow with money enclosed for new dress robes for the occasion. I want my sons to look their best. I thought it unwise to send the money in these letters as, if I know your brother as I think I do, he may have already thrown it away without reading it._

_I look forward to seeing you both on Saturday._

_With affection,_

_Your mother_

Regulus stares at his mother’s handwriting, his shoulders feeling heavy. Moreau’s is his mother’s favourite restaurant, a small, exclusive place in London not too far from Knockturn. The summons home is not surprising; the invitation to the restaurant is - Mother hardly ever dines out nowadays, and she certainly never brings along her children - she certainly has never wanted Sirius there, looking the way he does lately, with his hair in desperate need of a cut and his tendency to wear Muggle clothes without an ounce of shame.

Walburga is planning something, that’s for certain. The game is still in play.

::

Regulus finds it nearly impossible to track Sirius down after their confrontation at the beginning of the week. He doesn’t relish the idea of approaching his brother whilst he’s surrounded by those friends of his, and yet his brother hardly ever seems to go anywhere alone. It’s pathetic, really, how he always has Pettigrew trailing after him, or how he himself is always trailing after Potter. Lupin seems permenantly fixed next to him, that small washed-out smile always lurking around his mouth. 

Sirius has a tendency to make whoever is around him laugh, Regulus notices. Pettigrew looks at him with equal amounts adoration, fear, and envy - Regulus doubts his brother notices the latter two, and probably only sees Pettigrew as another devoted hanger-on. Potter laughs around him, loud and booming; and even though Lupin tries to look stern and play his role as Prefect at times, that half-smile is always there whenever he catches Sirius’ eye. 

There was a time when Regulus thought Sirius amusing too, until he realised that Sirius’ humour was more often than not quite cruel, always making others the butt of his jokes. The quick wit he used to possess has gone, replaced by loud, shameless pranks and crude jokes mostly at the expense of others. Regulus thinks Sirius isn’t half as funny as he used to be, and it’s a shame, that one of his best qualities has dimmed so much.

Regulus eventually gives up the hope of getting his brother alone, and on Thursday afternoon when he spots Sirius sat near the lake under the shade of a large beech tree, Regulus mutters a hasty “I’ll see you later” to Evan and Aegir, and makes a detour towards the four Gryffindors.

Sirius is sat with his back against the trunk of the tree, his eyes closed. Lupin is next to him, looking pale, the springtime sun doing nothing to help his washed-out complexion. There’s a book in his lap that he’s not paying the slightest attention to; he looks instead like he’s struggling not to fall asleep. Potter and Pettigrew are both immersed in reading. Potter has _Hogwarts: A History_ propped up on the grass in front of them, and on the floor spread out in front of them - Regulus squints to see as he gets closer - is, bizarrely, what looks like floor plans, but with many crossings out and reworkings.

“We’ll check the third one again in a few days, we might have missed something.”

“I was in there for hours last time, I nearly got stuck, I don’t see why you can’t -”

“You know full well why I can’t, you’re smaller -”

Regulus’ shadow falls across them both, and Potter and Pettigrew snap shut both their mouths and the book. Potter rolls up the - whatever he has - and they disappear into his school bag. Potter clears his throat.

“What do you want, Regulus?”

Sirius cracks open one eye and even Lupin starts to attention.

“Piss off, Reg,” is all his brother says.

“Charming. I was hoping I could have a word with you - alone?”

Sirius sits up straight, but doesn’t move any more than that. “Say whatever it is you have to say in front of all of us, or not at all.”

Regulus purses his lips together. He wants to say a great many thing about how Gryffindors are supposed to be brave, they shouldn’t have to have their friends around them like bodyguards all the time, and what does Sirius think Regulus is going to do anyway? 

Instead he says, “It’s private. It’s important.”

“I’m busy,” Sirius says, settling back down against the tree.

“Fine,” Regulus says, in a voice of forced calm. “What about tonight then? We could meet somewhere?”

“I’m busy tonight,” Sirius says. Lupin shifts ever so slightly next to him, his eyes on his book although Regulus knows he’s not reading. “And even if I wasn’t, as if I’d meet you anywhere alone - probably some sort of trick.”

“I’m not going to attack you, Sirius,” Regulus says, exasperated. “We’re family.”

“No, but your slimy little mates might. That’s what this is about, isn’t it? Family. I got the second letter, and that one went straight in the fire as well.”

Regulus’ mouth goes dry. “Mother was sending you money in that letter, Sirius.”

Pettigrew looks at Sirius, aghast, and even Lupin looks uncomfortable. No doubt the pair of them don’t have a Galleon between them, Regulus thinks, but Sirius doesn’t bat an eye.

“I don’t want Mother’s bribery. Tell the old bat -”

“Whatever you want to say to her, tell her yourself on Saturday,” Regulus says all in a rush. “She wants us to go to lunch with her, and she wants you home for Easter. I don’t know what she wants exactly, her letter didn’t say - just for us to be there, and Sirius she’s expecting me to make you come.” 

His tone is bordering on pleading. Lupin is frowning back down at his book, Pettigrew is picking up blades of grass from the ground, looking like he’s trying very hard to appear like he’s not listening in on the conversation, and Potter has taken out a Snitch from his bag and is fiddling with its wings. Regulus frowns at this - as a Seeker, the sight of James Potter manhandling a Snitch is making his fingers itch to snatch it away from him - but then he notices that Sirius is finally looking at him properly.

“I won’t go home for Easter, Reg,” he says heavily. “But - I’ll come with you to lunch with her. You can tell her that you made me come, if that makes things easier.”

“I don’t want things made easier,” Regulus says. “I want -”

He stops, feeling the back of his neck burning. He doesn’t want to be having this conversation in front of his brother’s idiot friends. He won’t blurt out his feelings in front of them all. He imagines the good old laugh they’ll have about him later on. He squares his shoulders, looks a Sirius and recognises the set of his jaw. This is the best Regulus is going to get.

“The lunch is at Moreau’s.”

Sirius raises an eyebrow at this, but then nods. “I’ll make my own way there.”

“Mother wanted us to buy new dress robes. Try to look presentable.”

“For family honour?” Sirius says, smirking slightly.

“No, just for basic hygiene. Sometimes you look like you’ve spent the night in the Forest.” Sirius grins and then salutes him mockingly. Regulus rolls his eyes. “I’ll see you on Saturday.”

It’s strange, making plans to see his brother. It’s been months since Regulus has been certain he’ll see Sirius anywhere other than briefly in the school hallways or across the Great Hall at meal times. He wonders if Sirius is thinking the same thing, but then thinks he probably won’t be.

Sirius nods. “See you on Saturday.”


	66. the lunch.

_Easter 1976_

“I still think it’s a trick.”

“Of course it’s a trick.” Sirius pauses in the act of chucking rolled up socks into his open trunk to give James an exaggerated eye roll. “It’s my mother.”

“You’re coming to mine straight after though,” James says. 

He’s stood ramrod straight against the pillar of his bed, his hands clasped behind his back. His eyes never leave Sirius, even as Sirius moves around the room looking for items of clothing to pack. It’s Friday night, the train to London leaves first thing in the morning, and as usual Sirius is last minute. He’s been hunting for errant quills and underwear now for the last twenty minutes, a big dramatic display with lots of banging about in drawers and rummaging about under the beds. James is sure it’s all a distraction. The Easter holidays are only two weeks, and Sirius doesn’t need to pack up the entirety of the dorm for that, but James supposes at least this way Sirius doesn’t have his mind on the looming meeting with his mother. 

James wants him to think of it though, particularly of the consequences, but Sirius has never been good at that. Even if he is in all probability walking in to some kind of trap.

“I’m doing this for Regulus,” Sirius says, and that’s his last word on the subject when James asks if he’s sure he wants to go. 

James can’t argue with that. He’d do the same thing, he knows. He’d walk into a nest of vipers, if it were for Sirius.

“We’ll meet you in The Leaky Cauldron at 2pm, but we’ll be in Diagon from midday anyway,” James says. He’s told Sirius this at least thirty times now, but he wants the plan set in stone. If Sirius is late, even by a minute, then James is going looking for him. James sighs, and then adds, “I’m not happy about this.”

“I’m not too keen myself, to be honest,” Sirius mutters, glancing around the room one last time, but he’s finally packed. He closes his trunk lid and latches it shut with a note of finality, and then fixes James with a disarming grin at odds with the sombre tone in the dormitory. “Shall we go visit Moony?”

Remus is still in the Hospital Wing. The full moon had been yesterday, and it hadn’t been a good one. The wolf seems calmer with the dog, stag and rat for company, but yesterday Moony had been in an awful mood, snapping at Wormtail, tussling with Padfoot, and repeatedly charging at Prongs. James’ shoulders still ache and he has the dimmed memory of the stag flinging the wolf to the floor, into the walls, the large black dog snapping and snarling at his heels, both of them trying to keep the wolf at bay. Remus woke up with a bruise covering the whole length of his side, spreading from his hip to his armpit, and nasty looking marks, red and bleeding, that had definitely been made from antlers. James still feels ill when he thinks about it. Luckily Madam Pomfrey hadn’t asked too many questions and had accepted Remus’ story about a loose floorboard that he must have fallen on. James had been frantic and apologetic, but Remus had shrugged it off in his usual fashion.

“Rather me getting nearly punctured than the wolf eating you,” he had said. James and Sirius had told him to shut up but Peter was quiet during the whole visit, and James didn’t think it wise to remind Remus that the wolf had gone for Wormtail, multiple times.

“I think after the holidays we should take a trip outside of the Shack,” Sirius says as the two of them leave Gryffindor Tower and begin the familiar path to the Hospital Wing. 

James glances at him to see if he’s joking; one look tells him that no, Sirius means this. His tone is light, although the suggestion that they leave the relative safety of the Shrieking Shack with a werewolf in tow is anything but casual. Sirius looks back at him, seeking approval James isn’t sure he wants to give. They’ve explored the Forest plenty of times - James, Peter, and Sirius in their animal forms - but on full moons they keep to the Shack, where they can subdue the wolf if need be. And usually, they don’t need to - usually, Moony is content to play-tussle with Padfoot until exhausted. Last night had been the first time the wolf had seemed agitated, not comforted, by their presence. Maybe Remus was just having a bad day. Everyone had been a bit fraught after Sirius met with Regulus, and James knows that Remus is worried about the meeting with Walburga - perhaps some of the lingering fear transferred to the wolf, and that had been why it had been such an awful night.

Sirius isn’t convinced by this argument though. They reach the entrance to the Hospital Wing but don’t go inside. Sirius faces James, determined.

“Just sitting with him isn’t enough! We can keep him under control, we know a familiar route into the Forest now, if he’s let out maybe he won’t be as destructive if he’s got a distraction!”

James lowers his voice, knowing that most likely Remus is awake by now, impatient to be let go. He really doesn’t want Remus overhearing this conversation.

“Sirius, this isn’t a naughty puppy with a bad habit of chewing the furniture. We can’t just let a werewolf loose -”

“It’s Remus,” Sirius says firmly. “He’s not just a werewolf, Prongs. He needs more than being cooped up every month.”

James sighs. He isn’t surprised that they’re having this conversation, but to be having it now, after the night they’ve had, on the day before Sirius is walking into who-knows-what, James isn’t prepared. He ruffles his hair, stalling for time, but he knows it’s a lost cause anyway. Sirius doesn’t back down when it’s about people he cares for. In some instances, like this, James loves him for it - in others, like the situation with Regulus, James thinks he’s an idiot. 

“Fine,” James says. “After Easter. If you haven’t been locked up by that crazy family of yours, we’ll do it.” 

Sirius grins. “There’s the Marauder spirit. Let’s go - Moony will be dying to nag at me about tomorrow, I’m sure.”

::

In the end Remus doesn’t nag, but when he asks if Sirius has finished packing yet he does fix Sirius with a look so soft, so full of concern, and yet so understanding that Sirius has to look away. Remus is sat up in bed when James and Sirius enter the Hospital Wing; he has bags under his eyes and he winces when he reaches across to pick up his glass of water - his entire left side is covered in bandages and there’s a vial of Healing Potion on the table next to him. James frowns, looking guilty, but Remus doesn’t mention anything about his injuries. Instead he asks where Peter is. Safe conversation. No talk of families, or how he was nearly speared by one of his best friends.

Peter had been in a bad mood all morning. He’s always been a bit touchy about his Animagus form, and last night when he was incapable of doing anything to control the wolf seems to have made it worse. James had tried to cheer him up - “you know we can’t even get to the Willow without you, Pete!” - and in the end it was only by reassuring him, again, that they need him for their next Brilliant Plan that Peter had finally stopped sulking. 

“He’s out checking out that passageway behind the painting of Rowena Ravenclaw to see if it leads anywhere. That’ll be all the Towers done then and the Seventh Floor. We can start on the Sixth as soon as we get back,” James says proudly.

“And we’ve done the ground floor ourselves,” Sirius says. “I think I’ve got the majority of the grounds mapped out as well.”

“What about the staircases?” Remus asks.

It’s a point of aggravation, the moving staircases. Trying to map them has been awful for everyone involved. Sirius, the best at Charms, tried to immobilise them once - it seemed to work, for a fraction of a second, before Sirius was thrown backwards down three flights. 

“I think I’ve worked out a way to get them on the Map - the ink is a bit smeary in the prototype, but I should be able to clear it up,” Sirius says, grinning in spite of the memory. 

He still can’t really believe what they’re attempting, and that it actually seems to be working. Sirius can’t even remember who had first come up with the idea of the map - Remus had joked about needing to track them all down, and Sirius had said something about magical trackers; James had been the one to take it seriously; Peter had blithely suggested a map, and it had been James’ idea to use the Homonculous Charm and Sirius who has been researching it. They haven’t tried it yet - they’re still in the plotting process, long hours spent in cramped corners of the castle and under the Invisibility Cloak after curfew - but it’s incredibly advanced magic. Sirius, a sixteen-year-old unregistered Animagus, is not in the least put off by this.

“Has Pomfrey said you can go?” James asks Remus.

Remus nods. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Just get me out of this hospital bed, please.”

Sirius hooks his arm under Remus’ and helps him out of bed. He’s wearing boxer shorts underneath the standard Hospital Wing gown, and Sirius is thankful that James is busy with alerting Madam Pomfrey that they’re going now and won’t notice the blush spreading across Sirius’ face.

“My trousers are on that chair,” Remus says, pointing.

Sirius, turning around to look, is sure that he’s smiling as he says it, and Sirius throws the trousers at Remus over his shoulder - there’s a muffled laugh as the trousers land on Remus’ head. 

“Put them on then, you’re not an invalid,” Sirius says gruffly.

Remus smirks as he pulls on his trousers. Sirius isn’t certain that he’s seen Remus smirk in this way before. He feels his face get warmer. 

James approaches them and Sirius claps his hands together and says, loudly, “Right then! Let’s go celebrate my last few hours of freedom. Moony, got your togs on?”

Remus whips off the gown to reveal a chest criss-crossed with scars. James looks away politely but Sirius stares for a moment longer. Remus isn’t smirking any more; he frowns as he catches Sirius’ eye and quickly pulls on a dark green jumper.

“Ready,” Remus says, staring past Sirius. “Let’s go make sure that Peter isn’t stuck anywhere, eh?”

::

Sirius has seen Remus naked before. He’s seen Peter and James naked as well - James a lot more frequently than Sirius would really like. Sirius assumes it’s just part of dormitory life - he’s just assuming, he hasn’t done a survey or anything apart from asking Lily once last year if she’d seen the girls without their clothes on, to which she’d aimed a jinx at him - and Sirius has never really thought much of it. James likes to take his clothes off when he’s drunk; Peter doesn’t lock the door when he’s in the bathroom; Remus wakes up without his clothes on every morning after the full moon. It stands to reason that they’re all bound to catch sight of each other’s unmentionables at some point.

And Sirius has looked before. It’s natural, he tells himself. It’s not like he’s gone out of his way to sneak a peek, but if he’s been in the changing rooms with James after practice and James lets his towel slip after the showers - perfectly normal that Sirius would look, that he would compare. 

The situation with Remus, however, is a bit more complicated. Yes, Sirius has seen Remus in the buff more times than he can really count, but usually it’s in the fraught moments just after sunrise when Remus is that curious mixture between helpless boy and still-wild man, and Sirius is far too preoccupied to be thinking about anything other than getting Remus back to the castle in one piece. 

Then there are the times in the dormitory, when Remus has been changing, and Sirius sees him. He’s seen Remus with raw brand-new scratches, and long-healed, deep silvery scars. Cuts and bruises of all shapes, sizes, colours. Remus used to be self-conscious about his body, would only change in the bathroom, but slowly this has been changing. Remus isn’t nearly as body-shy as he used to be (and really Sirius thinks he has no reason to be - underneath the robes and slightly stuffy exterior, Remus Lupin has been hiding _muscle_ ) but since their conversation in the dorm a few weeks ago, Remus has been retreating back in on himself. Whenever Sirius catches him in a state of even mild undress, Remus has been quick to hide it. Sirius isn’t sure why Remus is suddenly so shy - Sirius has admitted that he likes him, and that means _all_ of him - even the bits he’s yet to see properly, most likely -

“Padfoot,” James says, his voice loud and very close. 

Sirius starts, looks up to see James staring down at him. From the expression on James’ face Sirius guesses he’s been trying to get his attention for a little while. They’re in their usual compartment on the Hogwarts Express, but the train isn’t moving any more. They’re in King’s Cross, Sirius sees. Peter is stood in the doorway, already with his luggage, and Remus is bookmarking a page in his book and shoving it in his bag.

“Good daydream?” he asks.

Sirius coughs. “Uh. Yeah.”

“Anywhere but here, eh?” Remus says knowledgeably, smiling in an understanding way, although Sirius is very glad at this moment that Remus does not have access to his thoughts.

“Most definitely,” Sirius says, looking gloomily out of the window at the platform where students are already spilling from the train into the waiting arms of their families.

“Well, come on then,” James says. “Let’s get this over with.”

Sirius shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “You three go ahead. I’ll - uh, I’ll sit down here for a moment and wait for Regulus.”

James’ eyebrows shoot so far up on his forehead that they get lost under his hair. “Are you sure?”

“I’ll be fine,” Sirius says.

There’s a knocking on the carriage window and they all turn to see Mrs Pettigrew waving frantically at Peter, a wide smile on her face. A man with a mustache is next to her - the famous Harrington, Sirius supposes. Peter waves back at them both and turns to the other three.

“I’ll see you lot in two weeks!”

“Come visit if you want,” James says. “You’ll get bored in that shop, surely.”

Peter shrugs. “Maybe. Or you can come visit me?”

James looks less sure of this, but he nods. Only Sirius notices how unconvincing his smile is. “Sure, Pete. Maybe.” James waits until Peter has hopped off the train before he shakes his head and turns back to Sirius, muttering, “No way I’m going there, his mum drives me mad…”

The appearance of Mrs Pettigrew has suitably distracted Sirius from any lingering thoughts, and he stands up at last. They’re the last ones in the carriage now, and Sirius knows that James is stalling.

“Go!” Sirius says to him. “Tell your mum and dad that their favourite son will be with them tomorrow, after I finish this dreadful lunch.”

James nods, says, “Mirror-call if you need anything,” and then leaves the train as well.

Sirius looks at Remus. “So -”

“So.” Remus smiles, but it looks strained. “Write to me, okay? Let me know that - that everything is okay.”

“I’ll be at James’ by dinner time tomorrow,” Sirius assures him. “Are you going across at all?”

“Maybe next week. I’m visiting some family first. Mum wants me to make the rounds with the cousins and aunts and uncles.”

“I almost feel sorry for you,” Sirius says with a grin, “but then I remember who I’m seeing in about an hour.”

Remus frowns at this. He opens his mouth to say something, closes it, scowls at the floor and then suddenly reaches forward, pulling Sirius in to a hug. They bang shoulders, but then Remus is curling one arm around Sirius’ back. Remus’ bag is pressed awkwardly between them, and his breath is warm and ticklish in Sirius’ ear.

“Stay safe,” Remus says, and squeezes Sirius tight, just the once, before letting go and straightening up, his cheeks a rosy pink. 

Sirius wants to thank him, wants to let Remus know how much it means to him that he has his friends there for him like this, that he has _Remus_ like this. 

And then Regulus appears in the doorway. They hadn’t been touching, but Remus moves back a few more steps and begins fumbling about with his bags and his trunk. Regulus shoots him a deeply distrustful look, and then looks reproachfully at Sirius.

“Kreacher is here. We’ve been waiting.”

“Sorry to have kept you,” Sirius says. “Some of us have friends to say goodbye to.”

“Right,” Regulus says slowly. Then, looking Sirius up and down, he wrinkles his nose and asks, “Are you going like that?”

Sirius looks down at himself. He’s wearing robes - day robes, yes, but it had taken all of his self-control not to turn up in ripped jeans and his Muggle boots. Only James’ pleas that he wanted Sirius to come out of this meeting alive persuaded Sirius that it wouldn’t be worth it. 

“Yes, Reg. I’m going like this.”

He gives Remus a long-suffering look when Regulus turns his back. Sirius mouths “see you soon” and gives an overly exaggerated thumbs-up before slinging an arm over his brother’s shoulder from behind. Regulus jumps at the touch, and Sirius has a second to wonder when the last time he actually touched Regulus was, before he drags his brother from the train, towards Kreacher and towards, most probably, the worst couple of hours of his life.

::

The assumption of lunch with his mother being the worst couple of hours of Sirius’ life was, he soon realises, a vast under-exaggeration almost bordering on deliriously hopeful. In fact the lunch at Moreau’s is more likely to be the worst few hours of anyone’s life - of anyone’s entire _existence_. Ghosts tethered to the planet for hundreds of years have probably had better experiences, and they’ve _died_.

It starts, as most encounters with Walburga Black do, with her immediate disapproval. She’s already seated by the time Sirius and Regulus get to the restaurant; they are set upon by a waiter as soon as they open the door. He looks sneeringly at Sirius but when they give their names, the man at once turns all simpering, oozing eagerness to please. Sirius hates this, that they’re treated so differently because of who they are. Regulus smirks self-importantly, and Sirius wants to trip him up as they walk towards their mother who is seated in the middle of the room at a circular table.

“You’re late,” Walburga says, rising from her chair as Sirius and Regulus approach.

“Sorry, Mother,” Regulus says, darting forward to kiss her on the cheek and then standing behind the seat next to her. 

Sirius could come up with an excuse but knows it won’t make a difference. He presses his lips to his mother’s cheek and is assaulted with the scent of powder and dark, musky perfume. Her skin is cold but her eyes colder. Her dark hair is twisted into a bun atop her head and she’s wearing dress robes of a deep aubergine colour; they’re tailored to clinch in at the waist and then billow out at the hips; her obsidian and diamond rings are plain to see as she reaches out one hand to brush the hair from Sirius’ forehead. He tries very hard not to recoil.

“Did you not have time to change?” Walburga asks him.

Sirius bites his tongue and holds her chair out for her, pushing her in as she sits back down. Regulus waits until Walburga is seated before he takes his place, and finally Sirius sits down opposite her. He’s just wondering if he can angle his chair slightly so that he’s not looking directly at her when the waiter reappears to take their orders. Sirius trains his eyes on the menu in front of him - none of it looks very appetising, from the pumpkin pate to the hind of braised Hippogriff - but he’s eaten a large amount of sweets on the train. In the end he just orders the first thing his eyes land on that doesn’t look like it costs the earth, and hands his menu back to the waiter. 

“Gillyweed salad?” Walburga says, eyebrows raised. “Have you gone vegetarian?”

“No, Mother. I’m just not very hungry.”

Walburga makes a faint ‘hm’ noise in her throat, and then nods approvingly when Regulus orders half of the menu.

“I like a man with an appetite. Your father has a healthy appetite.”

“Where is Father?” Regulus asks.

Sirius glances around the restaurant as his mother starts to talk. It’s not terribly full - there’s a couple of old witches in the corner, gossiping over a tier of little cakes and a pot of tea that’s piping pale blue smoke, and a young couple a few tables over who look like they could be on a date. The young woman keeps on giggling and the man looks sweaty and relieved with how things are going as he signals for more wine. Sirius can’t imagine going to a place like this for a date. 

“Sirius,” his mother barks. “What are you thinking about?”

_Going on a date with Remus_ , Sirius thinks, and then rids that thought from his mind. He’s never considered if his mother can use Legilimency before, but he doesn’t particularly want to find out. Instead he clears his mind and says, “Nothing, Mother.”

Walburga sighs. “This is what I mean. No focus. Men of your age, Sirius, of your station - they should have focus.”

“I’m doing all right in school,” Sirius mutters as the food arrives.

The salad is dark green and slimy-looking. He prods at it hesitantly with his fork, and unnvervingly it seems to prod the fork back.

“I’m not talking about school. I’m talking about life.”

“We have careers training this year,” Sirius says.

“Yes, I remember. It’s partly for this reason why I wanted to talk with you.”

Sirius frowns. The jug of water floats over and refills his glass, and he takes a sip, trying to work out his mother’s expression.

“You want to talk about my career?”

“I want to talk about your prospects. You are a Black, Sirius -”

“- I know, no one will let me forget it -”

“ - And rightly so! A proud lineage. A noble family. A respectable name. And you want - I am assuming - a job?”

Sirius stares at her. He knows he’s being deliberately insolent, that it will wind her up, and yet he can’t help himself.

“And that’s…bad?” he asks, tilting his head to one side and attempting to look politely puzzled.

He hears Regulus give a small, unhappy sigh, but when Sirius shoots him a look his brother is staring resolutely down at his plate, his face a mask of indifference.

A vein is twitching in Walburga’s temple. 

“Blacks do not have jobs! We have callings. We have responsibilities, and duties. Your duty, Sirius, is to this family. It is your job to uphold the family name.”

“Well, I don’t want the job!” Sirius says, putting his fork back down with a clatter. He hasn’t eaten a mouthful but he’s never felt less hungry in his life. “I didn’t ask for this! You can’t just - you can’t just marry me off to whoever you like, expect me to - pop out an heir and a spare for you -”

“I understand you were not fond of the Carrow girl,” Walburga interjects, her eyes glittering. “Hence why we smoothed that business out with her parents. She and Regulus are now quite fond of each other, isn’t that right, Regulus?”

Regulus looks up quickly. “Oh, yes, Mother.”

Sirius snorts. “What a load of crap. Cressida Carrow is thicker than two short wands.”

Regulus glares at him from across the table but Sirius doesn’t hear him deny it.

“Don’t be so vulgar,” Walburga snaps. “Gracious me. Cressida has good breeding, does it really matter what her mind is like?”

Regulus drops his gaze back down to his plate of food, biting his lip.

“Anyway,” Walburga continues breezily, “as I was saying, your father and I are not unsympathetic, Sirius. We have proven that. We have been patient. We have waited, and put up with your antics and your indiscretions, but now, enough is enough.”

“My indiscretions?”

“Well, really, Sorting Gryffindor like that besides -”

“I was eleven-years-old! That Hat saw inside my mind, Mother, I can’t help it!”

“Lower your tone,” Walburga says softly. 

A few waiters are glancing their way. The old witches titter nearby and lean in closer to gossip. Sirius takes another drink of water, drains the glass, and then keeps hold of it just for something to do with his hands. Regulus takes a few half-hearted bites of his meal and Walburga continues with hers serenely, but Sirius has pushed his plate away. His knee is jiggling under the table restlessly and he looks around for a clock of any kind; it feels like he’s been here an age already.

“Enough is enough,” Walburga repeats. “The time has come, Sirius. You are our heir. Our eldest son. We can’t sit by and watch you waste your life surrounded by people like the Pettigrews, Merlin help me, or the Potters -”

“Don’t you start on the Potters -”

“ - and who even is that other boy? The one with the father who works with beasts in the Ministry and has a Muggle mother? This is not acceptable company for you and you will not be associating with them any longer.”

“They’re my housemates, Mother,” Sirius grinds out. “And my best friends.”

“I was roomed with Theodosia Edgecomb for seven years at school, and were we best friends? Of course not. We hardly spoke, because the girl was a nobody, just like this Pettigrew and Potter and - whatever his name is. Some people just hold you back, Sirius, and it’s high time you started to distance yourself from these sorts of inferior people -”

The glass in Sirius’ hand smashes; his mother must cast a non-verbal _protego_ because a shield instantly forms around all three of them. The shards bounce harmlessly down on to the tablecloth and a waiter hurries over.

“I had thought the quality of glass would be higher,” Walburga says.

The waiter bows, apologies, and clears the table. It’s a remarkable talent, how she can make people apologise for something they didn’t do and have no control over.

“You must tame that temper of yours,” Walburga carries on when the waiter has rushed off again. “So unbecoming of a man to show emotion like that.”

“You’re not listening to me. I don’t want it - any of it. Any of the rubbish that comes with being the Black heir, you can just - forget it. Give it to Regulus, that’s what you’ll do anyway, right?” 

Regulus glances between their mother and Sirius, but Walburga doesn’t even acknowledge that he’s there. 

“Is that what you truly want, Sirius? You want to give up - everything - and get a job like some commoner? Is that your grand plan for your future? Because if so, it’s a waste.”

“I’m going to do some good in the world!” Sirius says. “All these terrible things that are happening in the country - all over - this war that’s coming - I want to be on the right side of it.”

Walburga blinks at the word ‘war’ but otherwise doesn’t move.

“Don’t be a fool, Sirius,” she says quietly. “You should be on the safe side of it. We can ensure that, if you stay where you belong.”

Sirius stands up, his stomach churning. “I don’t belong anywhere near you.”

Walburga sighs, putting her hands gently together in her lap and bowing her head. She looks so peaceful for a moment, and then she squares her shoulders, draws herself to full height, and turns her piercing gaze on Regulus. 

“Regulus, is this what you want? Will you be the son I have always hoped for?”

“I -” 

Regulus pauses, looking at Sirius. Sirius’ heart is hammering in his chest - he can’t have just got away with it like that, can he? Sirius wants to scream at Regulus, to tell him that he’s just a teenager, he shouldn’t have to be making these kinds of decisions, that it’s ridiculous, archaic and utterly _bollocks_ -

“I won’t disappoint you, Mother.”

“Darling child,” Walburga says, smiling thinly. “Of course you won’t. Give me your wand arm.”

Regulus frowns. “Mother?”

“What are you doing?” Sirius asks. “Regulus, don’t -”

Regulus has already raised his wand arm, stretching it out uncertainly towards his mother. Walburga grabs it, twines her hand with her youngest son’s, and points her wand at their clasped fingers. 

“Shall we make it official, Regulus? Just a little Vow, that’s all, it’s nothing you won’t be agreeing to anyway -”

“You can’t!” Sirius says, lunging forward, but Walburga turns her wand on him and Sirius finds his legs buckling, bending, his body forcing itself into a sitting position. Stuck on his chair, he says, “No! You can’t make him take an Unbreakable Vow, that’s sick -”

His voice sounds muffled, like it’s coming from inside a very closed space. He glances desperately at the waiters, at the other diners - but no one is looking their way now. Whatever spell Walburga has cast, no one has a clue what’s going on at their table.

“Ancient tradition,” Walburga says. “Very old practice of course, but it’s becoming increasingly clear to me that the modern ways are not desirable at all.”

She grips Regulus’ hand tighter. Regulus’ lip wobbles but apart from a slight flicker he holds firm. 

“No!” Sirius says again, struggling more against the invisible force holding him. “God, Merlin - all right! Okay! You win. I’ll - I’ll do whatever you want, all right? Just - leave him alone!”

Walburga drops Regulus’ hand. Regulus, paler than before, flexes his fingers and looks wide-eyed at his brother. Sirius can move again, and he glares at his mother, a roaring feeling in his chest, a burning anger unlike anything he’s ever felt. The sounds of the restaurant flood back like a bubble being burst, and the young woman’s high-pitched laugh sounds across the room, making Sirius tense up.

“I know I wouldn’t have to, not with my Regulus,” Walburga says, smoothing down the front of her dress robes as if nothing has happened. “Regulus is a good boy. He would do what’s right regardless, wouldn’t you, darling?”

“Y-yes, Mother.”

Sirius stares at her. “So what was that - something to scare me with? He’s your son -”

Walburga inclines her head. “He is. But understand me, Sirius - you are my sons, but _family_ is all that matters, and there is nothing I would not do for family.”

Sirius feels the hairs on his arms prickle. Walburga stands up, and Regulus leaps up as well to pull out her chair for her. Sirius watches for a moment and then, reluctantly, he gets to his feet as well. Walburga summons the waiter to get her cloak and allows Regulus to fasten it for her. 

“Let us go home,” Walburga says, her eyes boring into Sirius. “All of us.”

Sirius has no choice. He follows his mother.


	67. the hunt for sirius.

_Easter 1976._

Remus is staring into the fridge, debating what to have as an after-lunch snack, when his mum walks by and smiles at him fondly.

“Still hungry?” she says laughingly. “I think we may run out of food before the holidays are up.” She gives him a teasing look as he retrieves a yogurt and a spoon from the drawer. Hope stops by the sink and starts to do the washing up, carrying on as she soaps up the plates, “It stands to reason though, you’re growing so much - gracious me, there’s a stag in the garden!”

“A wha’?” Remus asks, mouth full of yoghurt and spoon.

Hope is staring, wide-eyed, out of the window above the sink that overlooks the Lupin’s back garden. Her arms are still wrist-deep in washing up soap.

“A stag! Lyall, come look at this!”

Remus and Lyall crowd closer to the window, jostling plates and cutlery that are drying on the rack in the process. 

“Extraordinary,” Lyall says. “I didn’t think we had any deer nearby…”

“It’s magnificent,” Hope breathes.

The stag is standing brazenly in the middle of the garden, one hoof in Hope’s flowerbed. As the Lupins stare at it, it stares straight back - in particular, at Remus. It’s ears twitch, almost impatiently, and then it turns slowly and makes its way into the woodland at the back of the garden, neatly hopping over the low back fence.

“How wonderful!” Hope says. “I wonder what brought it all the way out here?”

Remus sighs, muttering under his breath, “Trouble, no doubt.”

::

Ten minutes later, when his parents are watching television and he’s put on a coat and sneaked out of the back door, Remus climbs over the back fence and into the small wood. A little walk away is a coppice, and Remus sits down on a tree stump and waits for James to step out from behind a bush. 

“Hey, Moony. Sorry about your mum’s flowers.”

“You will be if she ever finds out it’s you. What was that all about? Normal people ring the doorbell or Floo-call first.”

James shakes his head. “I didn’t want to worry them.”

“But you’re about to worry me?”

“It’s Sirius,” James says, and Remus’ heart sinks. 

“What’s happened?”

“He didn’t show. I went to Moreau’s but the stuck-up twats wouldn’t let me in. Dad says that we shouldn’t jump to assumptions, that the Blacks are within their rights to want their son home for the holidays and to revoke privileges like seeing friends, and Mum says if we want Sirius with us we need to be smart and not piss off his mother - but Remus, Sirius isn’t answering my mirror-calls and he hasn’t checked in at all -that lunch would have ended nearly two hours ago -”

Remus holds up a hand, cutting James off. “Let me just figure something out to tell my parents and then we can go.”

::

Remus is almost embarrassed about how easy it is to lie to his mum and dad, to tell them that James is feeling a bit low lately and wants Remus to go over. They both agree that it’s fine he goes to see James and cheer him up; they tell him what a good friend he is and Remus feels guilty all the way to meeting James at the corner of the road.

James caught the Knight Bus from The Leaky Cauldron and now he sticks his wand arm out, jumping back and pulling Remus with him as the purple double-decker screeches to a halt in front of them. James pays for both their fares back to London and for once Remus is too preoccupied to mind. Sitting at the back of the violently swaying bus, Remus tries very hard to concentrate on their plan, and not to panic too much. There could be loads of reasons why Sirius hasn’t checked in, after all, and Remus runs through them all in his head - he could be asleep, he could have lost the mirror, he could have gotten food poisoning at the restaurant and currently be indisposed - but nothing quite stops the suspicious, niggling feeling settling deep in Remus’ gut that tells him something is very, very wrong.

He and James don’t speak much during the journey - James looks as anxious as Remus feels, and Remus doesn’t know what to say that won’t stir up more worry. It’s only when they’ve left the Knight Bus and are hurrying through Diagon Alley, trying to look inconspicuous as they slip down Knockturn, that Remus finally speaks.

“Are you sure you know where you’re going?”

“Well, I don’t hang around here often,” James mutters distractedly, looking side to side at the shopfront signs as they walk along the cobbled street, “but Kwizik Alley is - _here_ \- so the antique shop is - ah - _here_.”

They stop in front of a small shop with a sloping roof and a rounded wooden door. The windows are thick with dust and all that Remus can see through them anyway looks like books stacked high on the windowsills. It doesn’t look still in business, let alone open right now, but James strides in and Remus follows after without contemplating too much about whether or not this is a good idea. 

A bell tinkles above their head but there’s no sign of any staff anywhere. This is definitely the place - Nott’s Antiques - every corner stacked nearly to the rafters with chairs, cabinets, pianos. Remus moves slowly through the clutter, wondering who in their right mind would pay money for any of this dusty assortment of junk.

“Hello?” James calls.

Nothing, and then: “Hello?”

“Pete? Where are you?”

Peter’s disembodied voice sounds as if it’s coming from somewhere all around them, and yet he’s nowhere in sight.

“James?! Where are you? Why are you here?”

Remus peers around a precariously wobbly looking bookshelf but there’s still no Peter, only a table piled high with gleaming candlesticks. 

“We need you. Help us out here, Peter - left or right?”

“Remus?”

“Yes, yes,” James says impatiently, sidestepping a three-legged stool that tries to bite him. “Remus. James. Peter. Now where are you?”

“Here,” Peter says, appearing from behind a large dust-sheet and blinking at them both. In one hand he’s holding a golden goblet; in the other, a bright pink feather duster. “What’s going on? I didn’t know you wanted to visit -”

“We’re here about Sirius,” James interrupts. “He’s missing.”

“Missing?” Peter puts down the duster and the goblet on the nearest pile of stuff and frowns. “We saw him on the train about four hours ago.”

“He never checked in with us after that meeting with his mum,” Remus explains. “We’re going to go look for him.”

“Yeah, and we need you,” James says. Peter starts to smile, and then James carries on, “Specifically, we need Wormtail.”

Peter’s nose twitches. He picks up the duster again and begins half-heartedly running it across the first piece of furniture it lands on, turning away from both Remus and James. In the silence that follows they hear the floorboards creak as someone else makes their way towards them, and moments later a stocky man with a moustache pops his head around the cabinet that Peter is cleaning. It’s the man from the train station that morning who had accompanied Mrs Pettigrew. The famous Harrington.

“Peter, are these fine young gentlemen after anything in particular?”

He has a wide smile that looks like it houses too many teeth. It looks ingenuous, Remus thinks.

Peter shakes his head. “These are my friends. James, Peter - this is Harrington Mawsley.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Remus says.

Harrington is looking between them both. “And which one of you is James? No, no, don’t tell me, I can guess,” he says with a chuckle, his eyes landing on James. “You have the Potter hair.”

“Er - thanks,” James says, frowning slightly. “We’re sorry for interrupting Peter from his work, sir, but we wondered if we could borrow him - our other friend needs us, you see -”

“That would be Sirius Black?” Harrington asks.

Remus looks curiously at Peter, who is still studiously cleaning the cabinet despite it being dust-free by now. 

“Yeah,” James says slowly. “We’re just a bit - worried about him.”

Harrington heaves a small sigh, crossing his arms over his chest. “Well, boys, to me it probably seems as if Sirius has gotten himself grounded or something.”

“Is that what it seems like to you?” Remus asks, raising his eyebrows. He finally looks away from Peter, but can’t help but wonder what exactly, and how much of it, Peter has told this Harrington.

“If Sirius is home with his parents, you have nothing to worry about,” Harrington says. “Walburga and Orion Black are fine folk -”

“You know them?” Remus asks incredulously.

The look that James gives Harrington is cold. “I think that our opinion on fine folk is drastically different, Mr Mawsley.”

He turns on his heel and disappears through the stacks of furniture. Remus looks pointedly at Peter, and hurries past Harrington without another word. He meets James outside and only manages a, “Well, that was -” before the shop door opens with a tinkle of the bell again and Peter emerges, pink-faced and glancing at the cobbled street, avoiding looking at both of them.

“I can be gone for fifteen minutes.”

::

Things are simpler when he’s Wormtail. The rat relies on instinct and his thoughts don’t cloud his judgement too much. Everything is clearer. Keep to the shadows, stay low, hide, avoid danger, avoid predators. Predators everywhere. Be quick, be quick. Don’t be seen. 

Wormtail scurries into the restaurant. Smells everywhere. Food and people. Chair legs and shiny shoes and the bottoms of robes. He pauses, whiskers twitching, trying to catch a particular scent. It’s there, faintly - the smell of human that is also _dog_ and _friend_ and _predator_ all at once - and the smell of danger, heavy in the air, and dark magic. Wormtail shakes; he doesn’t like it here, instincts screaming that it’s not safe.

There’s nowhere to hide so he runs - he quick, be quick - right through the middle of the room. This is a mistake.

Suddenly there are screams and shouts and a black shoe coming right for him. The rat runs under a table - more screaming, chair legs screeching - and then bolts out the other side towards the hole that he came through near the door. A jet of red light nearly blinds him but he doesn’t slow down. His tiny heart hammering, he disappears into the hole and out of the other side on to the busy street. He keeps to the walls, disappears into a side-street where the two boys are waiting, clutching a bundle of clothes.

::

“They were there,” Peter says once he’s dressed again.

James and Remus, keeping look-out at the entrance of the alley, gather round him expectantly.

“They’d been gone a while,” Peter carries on, “but I definitely caught Sirius’ scent. I think I probably got that place closed down for hygiene violations too, if that helps.”

“Doesn’t hurt,” James says grimly. “Did you catch anything else important?”

Peter chews on the inside of his lip, wondering how much to tell. There was the dark magic, but they are in Knockturn Alley - power like that seeps into the very walls of those kinds of places. 

“There was a kind of - fear,” he says hesitantly. James and Remus look at each other, worried, and Peter says, hurriedly, “I couldn’t really tell where it was coming from. It’s all a bit of a blur, when I’m Wormtail. Everything is fear.” He laughs nervously, but James and Remus are from from amused. “I’m sure Sirius is all right! It’s only been, what, a few hours? Are you sure you’re not -” Peter stops just before he’s about to say ‘overreacting’ because the look James gives him silences him instantly.

“You know what, Peter,” James says coolly. “You better get back to your shop. You’re obviously busy. Don’t want to keep Harrington waiting.”

“Harrington is okay, really,” Peter mumbles. 

“He was a dick,” James says bluntly. 

Peter blinks. He looks beseechingly at Remus, but Remus has his closed-off expression on his face.

_Fine_ , Peter thinks angrily, _no one ever listens to me anyway._ He doesn’t say this, though - it’s childish, and James would probably reply with something that would just make him feel even worse.

Peter mumbles a goodbye to them both and returns back to Nott’s Antiques just before his break is due to end. Harrington is waiting for him behind the counter with two cups of tea. 

“Did your friends get sorted?” he asks.

“They’re - they’ll be all right, I guess,” Peter says, leaning against the counter and scowling at the floor. 

“They didn’t seem too friendly,” Harrington says conversationally. “That Potter boy was quite rude. A bit entitled, is he?”

Peter stays silent. Harrington nudges the cup of tea towards him. 

“I was thinking, it’s a slow day, I might ask old Cantankerus if we can close early. All that stock ordering can wait for another day, eh?” 

Peter smiles at last, nods, and takes the cup of tea.

::

“Why was he being such a prat?!” James asks. 

They’re back at his house, and James is pacing around the living room. Remus is sat on the sofa, watching him. He wants to tell him to stop, sit down, or at least change his pattern - he’s starting to make Remus dizzy.

“Well, he does like Harrington a lot,” Remus says. James looks at him darkly, and he concedes, “But, yes, he was a bit of a prat.”

Gigi brings them freshly brewed tea and a plate of biscuits on a tray. Remus takes one eagerly - he’s barely paused since they left his own house, and the excitement and worry of the day have made him ravenous again - and Gigi beams at him, urging him to take more.

“This is Gigi’s own recipe, sir! If you is liking them, Gigi can make more for you to take when you go home.”

“Say yes to her,” James says, smiling wearily. 

“Oh, er - yeah, thank you, Gigi. That’d be great.”

The house-elf claps her hands happily and scoots off. James watches her go with a fond, despairing look.

“You can stay at least for the night,” he says then. “Longer, if you like. Mum and Dad won’t mind.”

“I don’t really want to go anywhere until we know that Sirius is okay,” Remus says, and James nods understandingly.

Mr and Mrs Potter join them in the living room when Remus is draining the last of his tea and is on his fourth biscuit. Mrs Potter frowns when they tell her they still haven’t heard from Sirius, and she glances outside; it’s starting to get dark. 

“Jasper,” she murmurs, “maybe we should -”

“We can’t just turn up at their house and start accusing them of things,” Mr Potter says, sighing. “Sirius is their son.”

Mrs Potter snorts at this in a very undignified way. 

“You know how they treat him, Jasper,” she says archly. “I wouldn’t treat a house-elf they way the Blacks treat their children. Sorry, Gigi, no offence meant,” she adds, as Gigi edges into the room with another pot of tea. 

Gigi refills Remus’ cup. “None taken, Mrs Potter, ma’am. The Potters are a good family. Gigi is proud to serve such people.”

“Well, now you’re just making us blush,” Mrs Potter says, her eyes twinkling behind her glasses as Gigi bows, her ears wiggling happily as she leaves the room.

“Is there nothing we can do?” James bursts out. “Dad - please - what if I just went to Grimmauld Place and asked if Sirius was in, that wouldn’t be suspicious, right?”

“No,” Mr and Mrs Potter say in unison. 

Remus starts, and even James looks a little shocked. Remus has never heard the Potters be so firm with James.

“If we still haven’t heard by tomorrow evening,” Mr Potter says, pinching the bridge of his nose, looking extremely worn out, “then I will go myself.”

Remus borrows Scout from James to send his parents a letter explaining that he’ll be staying at the Potters. As he watches the owl soar off into the darkening sky, he tries to shake the feeling of worry he has, but it seems permanently coiled in his stomach like a snake. He and James don’t talk much about Sirius again - Remus knows that James wants to go charging off to London, but his parents clearly know their son and keep a close eye on him all evening - and they’re both too anxious to eat much at dinner and so Gigi prepares them some sandwiches to take up to bed instead. 

The elf leads Remus to the spare room that he’s stayed in a multitude of times before. It’s cheerily decorated with white and pale blue striped walls, a bed with matching bedsheets and a large, heavy throw. Sleeping in beds at the Potters is a luxury that Remus always enjoys - the mattresses are so impossibly soft that Remus always wonders if it’s some kind of magic, and the duvets are just the right weight, heavy enough for Remus to feel as though he’s being properly cocooned. The room is lit by several low-light lamps that cast a cosy glow over everything. 

There’s an adjoining bathroom, and while Gigi is fluffing up the cushions, Remus changes into a spare pair of pyjamas that are always just his size kept in the laundry cupboard. Remus thanks Gigi, insists that he can’t possibly eat any more, thank you, and then clambers into bed as soon as Gigi leaves the room.

As in every other room at the Potter house, this room has photos of the family everywhere - black and white photos of men with unruly hair in old-fashioned robes; Jasper and Althea, much younger, arm-in-arm and laughing; and lots and lots of photographs of James at various ages, grinning for the camera at birthday parties, on broomsticks, surrounded by other doting family members. Remus, sat up against the headboard, stares at a photo on the mantle of the fireplace of James looking about twelve-years old; Remus guesses it’s about Second Year, because James’ face is still quite round with the last of his baby-fat, and he’s clutching a brand new broomstick and waving it excitedly. It looks like the time when James first made the Gryffindor Quidditch team. 

Remus continues to look at the photo until his eyes feel heavy. A part of him wants to stay awake because he fully expects James to creep into his room as soon Mr and Mrs Potter retire to bed, to concoct a back-up plan. It’s no use though; his eyelids are drooping, his limbs are heavy, and the bed is so comfortable.

Bright green flames burn behind his eyelids and Remus starts awake. He can’t have been asleep for too long - he’s still in an upright position in the bed, his back against the headboard - and as soon as his eyes snap open he finds himself staring once again at the fireplace. This time it’s not because there is a photo of James on the mantle; this time it’s because the head of Sirius is looking at him from the grate.

“Remus?” Sirius says, and then swears. “I was trying for James’ room - must have gotten muddled, I’m in a bit of a rush - why are you at the Potters?”

“Why am I at the Potters?” Remus echoes, scrambling out of bed and kneeling down on the floor so that he’s only a bit taller than Sirius’ head. “What - Sirius - we’ve been so worried about you! How did lunch go? What’s been going on? Wait, I’ll go get James -”

“No,” Sirius says quickly. “No, I only have a little while, I suppose you’ll have to do.”

Remus tries not to feel hurt by that. Of course Sirius came to James before him. That’s the way it’s always been, and the way it will probably always go, despite whatever acknowledgments have gone on between himself and Sirius. 

“What do you need?” Remus asks. “Are you hurt?”

Sirius blinks. “No, no. I’m fine. I was just coming by to tell James that I’ll be staying here for Easter, and I’ll see you all at school.”

Remus frowns. He had expected, after today, that seeing Sirius again would be a bit more - well, dramatic. Surely an argument of some sort must have happened? He feels a stab of guilt then - _Sirius is okay_ , he tells himself firmly. _This is a good thing._

“Are you sure you can’t come round at all?” Remus asks.

Sirius sighs. “Remus, this is my family. You know how bad things have got between us all. It needs to be fixed, it can’t keep on like how it was. It does nobody any good.”

“I - well - I suppose so - look, are you sure I can’t go get James?”

Sirius’ head turns slightly into the dancing green flames. He pauses for a long while, and then turns back to Remus, his whole head moving side to side as he shakes it urgently.

“No. I told you, I’ve got to be quick. I appreciate the worry but honestly I can handle this. I’ll see you at school.”

“But -”

But it’s no good. Sirius vanishes and Remus is left staring at an empty grate, feeling suddenly cold and very confused.

::

“And he’s going to be staying there for the whole of the holidays?” 

James is staring at Remus, thunderstruck, as Remus recounts the encounter with Sirius. Remus is sat on the end of James’ bed and James is sat up in a bundle of duvet and pillows. His hair is sticking up every which way and he squints at Remus, not having even bothered to put his glasses on.

“That’s what he said,” Remus says. “He said he needs to fix things with his family, and that we shouldn’t worry. He said he can handle this.”

“I don’t like this,” James says at once. “Merlin, what if they’ve - cursed him, or are controlling him. Imperius or -”

“James,” Remus says. “He looked like he knew what he was saying. Clearly something did happen at lunch today, but - but this actually seems to be Sirius’ decision that we’re dealing with.”

“No way.” James shakes his head vehemently. “I know Sirius. He hates them. Hates them, Remus. He wouldn’t be staying unless he didn’t have a choice. You should have woke me up!”

“He said not to!”

“Exactly! That’s not like him - sorry, Moony,” James adds, as Remus looks away. “I didn’t mean he doesn’t - I know he cares about you. But he would have wanted us both there, don’t you think?”

Remus shrugs, feeling small. He’s not exactly sure what to think anymore.

::

James tells his parents everything as soon as the sun rises, even his suspicions of Sirius being under the Blacks control. Mrs Potter gives a small gasp, her hands flying up to cover her mouth. Mr Potter gets up at once and inspects the spare bedroom, and returns down to breakfast with a grim expression.

“Not a trace of Dark magic, boys. Thankfully, we can rule out Sirius being under the Imperius Curse.”

Remus shudders slightly. He can’t believe this is now a topic of debate over jam and toast. James is staring at his dad, frowning. Remus knows he must be feeling the same curious mixture of relief and disbelief that he is. He imagines that they’re thinking the same thing as well - if Sirius isn’t being controlled, then what the hell is going on?


	68. easter letters.

Regulus Black to Narcissa Malfoy  
April 10th 1976

_Dear Narcissa_

_It was great seeing you yesterday, and thank you very much for my present! A navigational coordinator for my broom will be brilliant. I can’t wait to get back to Hogwarts and try it out. I wish Mother would let me practice Quidditch at home sometimes, Slytherin need to win the Cup this year! I don’t think I could stand it if we lost another year. Maybe you could come and see us play one match next term?_

_I was sad that Bella couldn’t come to dinner but understand that she’s busy. I know that Mother appreciates you making the effort, we all think it’s so important that Sirius have his family around him now. He’s being v. quiet and moody, you know how he gets, but it’s been better since Mother took his wand away - we were all getting worried that he was going to do something stupid. I think now is better though - after you’d left yesterday we played cards for an hour together. I think tomorrow I’m going to see if he wants to go for a walk just us two. He hasn’t spoken much about anything but I think like you say it’s just going to take some getting used to and an adjustment period for all involved. We’ve all gotten quite used to not having Sirius around, which obviously is NOT proper at all and not the way things should be. I must admit it is nice to have him around, I do wish he’d be a bit more pleasant and try to see things from our point of view, but I overheard Father saying to Mother yesterday that at least he hasn’t bolted yet so I suppose that’s something?_

_~~Oh bother sorry Cissy I didn’t~~ ~~I wasn’t talking about~~ ~~I didn’t mean to bring up Andromeda~~_

_When do you go to France again? You are being sensible getting away from it all for a week or so, I am jealous!_

_Write soon._

_Regulus._

_PS: Great news about the new legislation waiting to be passed isn’t it? ABOUT TIME._

___

Dorcas Meadowes to Lily Evans  
April 10th 1976

_Hiya Lils!_

_Just me checking in to see if you’re okay. I know by now you’ve probably read the news about that new blood status law and I just want to say I hope you’re not getting too down about it, it’s absolutely ridiculous and surely it won’t even get passed anyway! It’s beyond stupid - why the hell would anyone needing to go to St Mungo’s need to declare whether or not they’re Muggle-born? And as for the Ollivander’s thing - my da was ENRAGED when he read that. “The wand chooses the wizard, Dorcas, and it doesn’t give a flying fig what kind of family you come from,” he said to me. We have half-blood cousins due to start Hogwarts the year after next and this has put a dampener on it all a bit. Sorry listen to me being such a moaner when it hasn’t even been passed yet - I suppose watch this space!!_

_I’ve written a similar letter to Mary but she’s not replied yet. She’s bit more sensitive than you, I hope this doesn’t upset her too much, especially when Mulciber gives her such a hard time already. He really is the worst._

_I hope your dad is feeling better and you’re not dwelling on anything too much!_

_Love_

_Dorcas_

___

Dorcas Meadowes to Remus Lupin  
April 12th 1976

_Hey Remus_

_Have you heard from Lily this holiday? I wrote to her a couple of days ago and usually she replies straight away but I haven’t heard anything. Trying not to worry but you know me._

_Dorcas_

___

Remus Lupin to Lily Evans  
April 13th 1976

_Dear Lily_

_Sorry for not writing sooner - things have been a bit chaotic here. Dorcas wrote and said she’s not heard from you - is everything okay? I know I said I’m busy but I’m always here if you need to talk about anything. I’m at James’ house for the rest of the holidays, and Pete’s joining us the day after tomorrow. He and James had a bit of a row last week but they’ve made up now, thank God, I can’t deal with any more drama!_

_How are things your end?_

_Remus_

___

James Potter to Lily Evans  
April 15th 1976

_Evans,_

_Please don’t kill Remus or Dorcas for giving me your address. They’re both worried that they haven’t heard from you. Look I hope you’re not upset about this blood status thing that’s been in the news - it’s all absolute ~~shit~~ rubbish and you know you have lots of people that ~~love~~ care about you and don’t give a damn about any of this sort of ~~bollocks~~ nonsense. _

_From  
James_

___

James Potter to Lily Evans  
April 17th 1976

_Evans_

_If you don’t write back I’m going to keep sending you letters! Ha - you don’t want THAT now do you??_

_James_

___

Dorcas Meadowes to Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew & James Potter  
April 18th 1976

_Boys I think something awful has happened. Meet us on the train._


	69. a world without.

_April 1976._

Lily has been staring at the same spot by now for nearing forty minutes, a hole in the multi-coloured patchwork throw that’s slung over the lumpy sofa of the room that they’re in. The family room, the nurses called it, probably hoping to inject some comfort into at least one area of the hospital. St Augustine’s is a small hospital, a bit ramshackle with its wide white hallways and over-bright wards, and yet the family room isn’t much better. Lily doubts anyone who has been forced to be in here has ever felt comforted by it.

By now she’s memorised the pattern on the throw, knows the exact number of threads hanging from it, knows the sequence of the colours. The ticking on the clock on the wall has seared its rhythm into her skull. There’s a couple of worn-looking chairs in the room as well as the lumpy sofa, a coffee table with untouched magazines splayed on it, and a wilting pot-plant by the window. It looks like it’s never seen sunlight, positioned as it is under blinds that have probably never been opened. Unlike the rest of the hospital which has harsh, unforgiving lighting, the family room is dark. Lily could get up and open the blinds, but she doesn’t particularly want to see life rumbling on in the roads down below, not when everything is falling apart here.

She looks at the clock. 11.10am. Dimly she registers that the train will be leaving for school, for the first time without her on it. The train left London 10 minutes ago, and Rupert Evans has been dead for one hour and seventeen minutes. 

Petunia is sat opposite her, her face blotchy, clutching a cup of tea to her chest. One of the nurses had brought them all tea, after they’d all crowded around their dad’s bed to say goodbye. The nurse had brought the tea into the family room afterward on a tray with a large white and blue china teapot and matching cups. Lily had wondered briefly if this was the special tea-set for those who had just lost a family member, or if they just grabbed whatever they could from the staff room. 

Lily knew something was wrong the moment she’d got home for Easter break. Her dad had been in bed for days complaining of pain, her mum by his side all day and night, until they’d called an ambulance. The cancer had spread, she’d been told, and her dad had been refusing treatment since February. He had an infection, a weakened immune system. The doctor came out and told them everything, sat with them and explained, but Lily didn’t really understand a word of what he was saying besides the fact that her dad was not going to be leaving this hospital with them.

A lot of the last 48 hours seem a blur but other bits will stay with Lily forever - the teapot; the awful phone call to Petunia to tell her she better come now; her aunt Deborah rushing up from Halifax; the look on one of the nurses face when she told them that if everyone was here, they should probably say goodbye now if they were ready.

_If they were ready._ A stupid phrase. As if any of them were ready. As if anyone ever could be ready. 

In the end it was their mum that gathered them all up, propelled by strength Lily was almost envious of. Her mum had said that their dad had spoken to her about eventualities like this, that if things got worse, much worse, then he didn’t want to prolong it. “He’s not in pain,” their mum had said. “It’s time.”

Petunia had been driven up from London by a boyfriend who has since made himself scarce. He disappeared down to the hospital cafe. It had been miraculous timing that Petunia had made it, and she’d told them all they’d probably get at least ten driving fines for speeding, but it didn’t matter. It had been lucky too, in a way, that Lily was home for Easter. She had been contemplating spending it at school. 

“He probably waited,” their mum said. 

Lily keeps repeating that in her head. They got to say goodbye. That’s more than some people get. It doesn’t help, and it doesn’t make her feel better.

Up until now Lily feels as if she’s been living in some sort of haze, following set steps. She’s been in this room for nearly two days, just two doors away from where her dad was on the ward. She’s been alternating between curling up on the hard chair next to his bed, trying to strike up conversation with the nurses, and then being in this awful room and attempting to catch some sleep. In between there had been trips to the cafe where she hardly ate a thing and quick walks to the coffee machine where the coffee tasted awful. Towards the end, when she didn’t want to venture too far in case something happened, the nurses told her she was welcome to use their kettle in a room just to the side. This hospital has become her world for two days, and now she feels as if she’s been forced out, no script to follow, into the unknown. She doesn’t know what comes next.

The door to the room opens and Lily starts to attention. She’s been so used to the door opening and it being a nurse, but now it’s only their mum. Angela Evans has bags under her eyes, her face is red and puffy, but she smiles weakly at both of her daughters.

“We can go home now, girls. If you’re ready.”

Those words again. _If you’re ready._ Lily looks blankly at her mum. She wants to ask, _Ready for what? What happens now?_

“What about - what about dad?” Petunia asks. Lily is glad she’s the one who’s asking. “What do we do now?”

“Well, the - the death need to be registered in the next few days,” their mum says slowly. “I was going to do it tomorrow…”

“I’ll come with you,” Petunia says at once. “Vernon can drive.”

“I’ll come too!” Lily says.

“Girls, that’s very kind of you but you don’t have to.” Both Lily and Petunia look at their mum defiantly, and she nods. “Very well. Lily - what about school?”

“I think school can wait!” Petunia says angrily, with a nasty look at Lily, although she hasn’t said anything to the contrary. “Do they not understand about bereavement?”

“Of course they do,” Lily mutters. “My headmaster probably already knows somehow. I’ll get in touch with them tomorrow.”

They gather up their things that they’ve had with them in the room and get ready to leave. They don’t have much; didn’t have time to bring anything. Lily has a bottle of water that she’s barely touched, and before she leaves, she pours it all into the wilted plant pot on the windowsill.

::

No one speaks during the car ride home. In the backseat Lily stares at the back of Petunia’s boyfriend’s head. His shoulders seem to lead straight on to his head with no neck in between. After ten minutes of silence he fumbles with the radio and turns it on, but Petunia glares at him from the passenger seat and he turns it off again.

Their mum says, faintly, “Oh, darling, I don’t mind, let Vernon have some music on…” but the radio remains off for the duration of the journey.

On the wall in front of their house is a tabby cat. Petunia, Angela, and Vernon head inside the house but Lily lingers outside for a while, waits until the front door has closed, and then turns to see Professor McGonagall leaning against the wall, regarding Lily over the rims of her glasses. 

“Please forgive the intrusion, Miss Evans. We were alerted that a student had not made the train.”

Lily stares down at the weeds attempting to grow through the paved footpath leading to the front door. “Who told you?”

“The train did, Miss Evans,” Professor McGonagall replies, rather gently. “There is magic in place for such matters. Unfortunately sometimes it happens.”

“My dad died,” Lily says suddenly, looking up at her professor. 

She’s never said that before. It’s never been true before, and now it will never not be true. 

There’s a softness around McGonagall’s eyes that tells Lily she already knows. 

“Miss Meadowes sent an owl ahead to me explaining some of the situation. I am sorry, Miss Evans.”

Lily can’t handle if McGonagall starts to get sympathetic with her. A tightness swells in Lily’s throat; she blinks, looks back down at her trainers. 

“I’ll need to be here for the funeral.”

“Naturally.” McGonagall sounds businesslike again, much to Lily’s relief. “You can take as much time as you need. We can arrange for notes and such to be owled over to you, if you would like. If you would prefer not, however, I completely understand and -”

“No,” Lily interrupts. “I don’t want to fall behind.”

Unbidden, all of the news about the blood status law floods to the forefront of her mind. She doesn’t want to be thinking about this now, about how she has to work twice as hard as anyone to get less recognition in the wider world, but now suddenly all the numbness she has been feeling for the last day or more is replaced by a searing anger. She’s glad her dad never knew that part of her life. Tears prick in her eyes and she rubs a hand over them hastily.

“Owl me the day after tomorrow,” Professor McGonagall says. “When you know more about the arrangements. And Lily,” she adds softly, and reaches out to squeeze Lily on the shoulder, “I am truly sorry for your loss.”

Professor McGonagall disappears with a pop. Lily sighs, not sure if she’s pleased that she’s gone or if she wished that she’d stayed a bit longer, and then goes inside the house. 

Petunia and her mother are sat in the living room and Lily can hear Vernon clattering about in the kitchen and the whistle of the kettle. Petunia narrows her eyes at Lily as she enters the room.

“Who was that?”

“A teacher,” Lily says tiredly.

“Do these people have no respect?” Petunia hisses as Vernon emerges from the kitchen clutching two dainty floral-patterned teacups in his large pink hands.

“They were worried that I missed the train,” Lily says.

Vernon passes Petunia and Angela the tea. “Tight on the old absenteeism at boarding school, are they?” he says. “I didn’t make you a cup, sorry. Kettle’s just boiled though.”

“I don’t want one, thanks,” Lily says, wondering not for the first time what on earth her sister sees in this man. 

“Was it that McGonagall woman?” their mum asks, taking a sip of her tea and then immediately trying to hide her wince. Whatever Vernon’s good qualities are, making a decent brew is clearly not one of them. “I remember her. A bit strict, yes? She had the large pointed hat…”

Vernon blinks, and Petunia titters nervously. “Scottish fashion these days. Ridiculous, isn’t it.”

Lily looks at her coldly. Hiding the fact that she’s a witch from her sister’s stupid boyfriend is so far down on Lily’s list of priorities right now that it would be laughable, if Lily could remember how to laugh at the moment. She takes a deep breath to steady her nerves, feeling angry all over again, but then notices her mother staring hollowly at the empty place on the sofa where their dad usually sits. All thoughts of her sister and Vernon forgotten, Lily takes her mum gently by the elbow and guides her to her feet.

“C’mon, Mum, let’s get you upstairs…”

Once her mum is in bed, Lily feels at a loss with nothing to do. The house isn’t silent, and yet it feels quieter than usual; it takes Lily a moment to realise that what’s missing is her dad’s radio. He usually has it on in the bathroom when he gets ready for bed and normally Lily can hear the fuzz and crackle of the station mingled with the running water of the shower or her dad’s off-key humming. Petunia and Vernon have turned the television on downstairs, and Lily thinks this must be how it goes. Everything just carries on. People watch TV and they go to school and they go to bed and they wake up and do it all the same as before but just without. The thought is simple and terrifying.

Lily collapses on to her bed without even bothering to take off her clothes even though she’s been in the same top and jeans for nearly two days. Her room is a mess, her Hogwarts trunk half-packed, her desk covered in parchment and unanswered letters from her friends. The window is still open a crack from where Lily had sent Dorcas a hastily scribbled reply owl before she’d bolted to the ambulance with her dad. 

Lily buries her face in her pillow. She’s beyond exhausted. She doesn’t want to write a proper letter to her friends, doesn’t want to go downstairs to her sister, and can’t face looking at her mum for very long. She doesn’t want to tidy her room or sort out her school things. There’s a multitude of things to do, and yet Lily doesn’t want to start on any of them - somehow, the thought of having to wake up tomorrow and have a hundred different things to concentrate on is rather comforting so for now, she'll leave them be.

_Tomorrow_ , she thinks, closing her eyes. _I’ll start tomorrow._

::

Remus has never shirked his Prefect duties before except when the full moon has demanded it, and yet he has no qualms whatsoever about skipping patrolling the train carriages and instead heading straight to find Dorcas with James and Peter.

“Is Evans okay?” James asks as soon as they enter the carriage. 

Mary is there as well, sat closest to the window. There is no Lily.

“Where is she?” James continues, not budging from the doorway. “Is it -”

Remus can tell what James is thinking, but one look at Dorcas and Mary’s expressions tells him that this has nothing to do with the war or politics. This is something worse.

“It’s her dad, isn’t it?” Remus says quietly.

Peter takes a seat opposite Mary, looking cautiously around at them all. James frowns at the two girls, still not moving to sit down.

“Her dad?” For a moment his concerned expression lifts; he looks almost relieved, and then realises what they mean and his face falls all over again. “Oh. Oh Merlin. No.”

“We think so,” Dorcas says. “I got a letter from her the day before yesterday. It doesn’t say much, just that her dad was being taken to hospital and she might not be at school. I haven’t heard from her since.”

Remus sits down at last, a hollow feeling in his chest. In truth he had thought the same as James at first - another attack, some targeted incident. They’ve all gotten so used to death and destruction on such a large scale, he thinks, that the small intimate ways that loss slips in has been forgotten.

“I thought I should tell you all,” Dorcas is saying, her voice shaky, “because when she does come back, she’ll need space. She won’t want crowding.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Peter says.

The look Dorcas shoots him is almost impatient. “I wasn’t so much meaning you. But you -” and here she looks archly at James, and the warning is clear, “- and - where is Sirius?”

“Don’t ask,” Peter mutters, putting his feet up on the seat and resting his chin on his knees.

They’d seen Sirius briefly on the platform, stood with his brother. It’s the first time that Remus remembers seeing him board the train with Regulus.

An awkward silence follows before James clears his throat.

“Probably looking for us. We just came straight here.”

“Right,” Dorcas says slowly. “I thought you’d all be together. Anyway, tell him, make sure he knows - have a bit of tact when Lily comes back, okay?”

Remus sees James visibly bristle at that, but before he can say anything, Mary mumbles, “If she comes back.”

Dorcas frowns at her. “What?”

Mary lifts her head and stares around at them all. “Well, let’s think about it,” she says, as it were obvious. “Everything is pretty much going to hell recently. That stupid law being talked about for one thing -”

“That’s not been passed yet!” James interjects tersely.

Mary rolls her eyes. “As if that matters. The thought is already out there, and that’s what they wanted. Plant the seed in everyones mind. Maybe Muggle-borns need to be monitored, maybe they can’t be trusted with a wand…”

Remus thinks of the Werewolf Registry, of his own name sitting in a book somewhere in a dusty Ministry archive. He clenches his hand into a fist, and realises James is watching him closely. 

“Nobody thinks that!” James says, and then, “Well…or - if they do - it’s just the nutters -”

“Those nutters are getting more powerful by the day!” Mary says, turning her burning gaze on James. “I wouldn’t blame Lily for staying away, not now.”

“You’re wrong,” James says bluntly. 

“Because, what, you know her so well?” Mary says, lip curling.

“Guys -” Peter says weakly, at the same time that Dorcas says, “You two, stop it -”

“No!” Mary says, still glaring at James, who is glaring right back. “I’m sick of being told how to feel by Purebloods who have no idea of what it’s really like. This war is changing people. I mean, where is Sirius? I saw him on the platform with his brother. And you know who his brother is mates with? The likes of Mulciber.”

“Mary,” Remus says, trying to be placating, although his own heart-rate has quickened at the sudden turn of events. “I know we’re all upset right now, but it’s not what you think.”

“Because people never turn on the ones they love?” Mary says defiantly.

“Is this about Richie?” James asks. “Just because your ex turned out to be a great big prat, does not mean -”

“Hanging around Mudbloods isn’t cool anymore,” Mary says, and everyone in the carriage flinches. “Sirius probably knows that. Christ, I know it. Lily knows it. And if I were her I would want to be with my family right now. I wouldn’t want to come back.”

::

The welcome back feast is a strained affair. They didn’t stay long in the girls’ company after Mary’s outburst on the train, and on the walk to the castle and into the Great Hall, James purposefully speeds up to distance himself from both of the girls, making a beeline for Sirius who is already sat at the Gryffindor table. He hadn’t sought them out at all on the train, but Remus tries not to think of that. 

“Where’s Evans?” Sirius asks, glancing down the table.

“Er - her dad’s really not well, we don’t think,” James says, and Remus explains the rest of it as best he can without mentioning anything else that was said on the train.

Sirius frowns at his plate. “That’s rough,” he says, and doesn’t offer much else to the conversation throughout the rest of the meal.

“It’s normal that he’d be a bit quiet,” James says to Remus as they make their way to Gryffindor Tower afterward, Sirius a few strides ahead of them. “He’s had two weeks of Grimmauld Place. That has to mess with your head, surely.”

Remus watches Sirius closely, his eyebrows knitting together in concern. “Mm,” he says. “That’s what I’m worried about.”

Sirius goes to bed early, and after the long train ride Remus thinks that an early night is probably the best bet for all of them. He hops in the shower first, and when he comes out of the bathroom it’s to find that Sirius has drawn the curtains around his bed already. Remus frowns at Peter, who is changing into his pyjamas, and cocks his head over at Sirius’ bed. Peter shrugs back helplessly. 

“James say he isn’t worried,” Peter whispers. “So we shouldn’t be, right?”

“Ahuh,” Remus says, thinking that James Potter is a liar. 

In his own bed, Remus can’t sleep, his mind full of Mary’s words on the train. He waits until the sounds of Peter’s snores fill the room and then he creeps across the room to Sirius’ bed, and knocks softly on the pillar of his four-poster. Remus is rarely the one who joins Sirius in his bed; more often than not, it’s the other way around, and Remus never wants to be an imposition, but he’s felt the absence of Sirius keenly for the last two weeks and more than anything just wants to talk to him.

There’s no response, and so after casting a quick look around the dormitory to make sure that James and Peter are asleep, Remus finds the gap in the curtains and pokes his head in. Sirius is still in his robes, lying on top of his duvet with his hands folded across his chest, his face illuminated by a faint glow. Remus looks up and sees that Sirius has conjured many tiny balls of light which are currently arranging themselves on the canopy of the bed. 

“Constellations?” he asks softly.

Sirius doesn’t turn his head, focused on his own-made night sky. “What do you want, Remus?”

“I just - are you okay? You’re being very -” Remus doesn’t quite have the words to describe how Sirius is being, so he gestures uselessly and finishes, rather lamely, “I dunno, quiet.”

“Just thinking about things. Evans, you know.”

Remus frowns. Sirius has been strange since before he knew about Lily - since he Floo-called at the Potters and told Remus he needed to be with his family. Remus is acutely aware that Sirius has not yet invited him in, and he reaches out to touch Sirius on the shoulder. Sirius shrugs him off.

“Remus, don’t.”

“What’s the matter?” Remus frowns. “I wasn’t - I didn’t mean -”

“Well, good,” Sirius says shortly. “Because I can’t.”

“Why are you being like this?” Remus asks. “You can talk to me, you know.”

Sirius sits up. The conjured stars fall away into nothingness, casting Sirius’ face into shadows. 

“I’m not being like anything, Remus. I don’t want to talk to you."

"You shouldn't shut us out -"

"Oh, go _away_ ," Sirius snaps, and Remus recoils away from him, startled for a moment before his shock turns into anger. "I don’t know what you thought but I don’t owe you anything!”

Remus feels his face grow hot. Not trusting himself to speak, he shuts the curtains on Sirius and turns around. He's not really surprised to see that James isn’t asleep at all, and is instead sat on his own bed, watching Remus.

“You okay?” James asks quietly. “I thought maybe if anyone could get him to talk, it would be you.”

Remus shakes his head. “Maybe he’ll want to talk when he stops acting like he’s got a broomstick shoved up his arse,” he says, not bothering to lower his voice and cursing the way it chooses now to crack, “but until then I can’t be bothered with him and his moods anymore.”

He climbs into his own bed and above the roaring in his ears and the pounding in his chest he hears James sigh, heavily, into the emptiness of the room.


	70. going through changes.

_Late April 1976_

The first proper day of the summer term is tense from the moment James wakes up. Remus’ bed is already made and empty, Remus nowhere to be seen, and Sirius doesn’t say one word as they get dressed and James wakes up Peter. 

As soon as Peter is in the bathroom brushing his teeth, James rounds on Sirius, who is sat down on his bed, slowly sorting through which books he’ll need for the day.

“Remus had a point last night,” James says; no point in beating around the bush, he decides. “You are acting like an arse.”

“Remus needs to leave well enough alone,” Sirius says. “You all do.”

“We’re your friends, Padfoot!” James says in exasperation. “If something happened while you were at your parent’s -”

“Nothing happened!” 

Sirius stands up, his bag packed, and stalks towards the door. He can’t seem to help himself from turning back before walking out completely, and when he looks at James, James tries desperately to read his expression, but it’s too muddled. 

“You don’t visit - you don’t mirror, or write, or want to meet up with us at all for two weeks.” James takes a few steps towards him, frowning down at Sirius. In the back of his mind he’s aware that the water has stopped running in the bathroom, but Peter doesn’t emerge. “Piss off with nothing happened. What, you just decided out of the blue that a nice family holiday is exactly what you need?”

“Why is that so hard for everyone to believe?” Sirius asks, scowling. He’s a bit shorter than James but in that moment he’s all furious energy and it takes all of James’ willpower not to flinch back. He half expects that Sirius might swing a punch at him, and sort of hopes that he will - maybe a good thrashing will sort him out. “I said I was going to that lunch for Regulus. I stayed for Easter for Regulus. He’s my brother. Can you even try to understand that?”

“Of course I understand that,” James says. “How can you ask me that? I feel the same way about you - and Remus, and Peter -”

“Then stop harassing me over this,” Sirius says shortly. “You can’t have me all the time.”

James blinks. “You think we’re jealous?”

All this does is get a small shrug from Sirius as he looks away. James snorts.

“Are you being deliberately thick? We’re not jealous, we’re worried about you! Your family - Sirius, you know this, they’re bad news.”

At long last the door to the bathroom creaks open. Peter emerges in the doorway, wide-eyed, a dot of toothpaste on his upper lip. Right now James wishes fiercely that he could have Remus here with him, but for now, Peter is all the back up he has. James gestures at the smaller boy, but keeps his eyes trained on Sirius.

“We all care about you. Wormtail here got Moreau’s closed for health violations for you.”

This nearly gets a smile from Sirius, so James keeps going with the story.

“I went as Prongs into the Lupin’s garden. Moony and I went all the way to Nott’s Antiques -”

“What?” Sirius’ head snaps up at last, but he looks far from amused anymore. “Where did you go?”

“Nott’s Antiques,” James says, looking at Peter for help.

“Why the hell were you in a shop run by the Notts?”

“My step-dad works there,” Peter says slowly, and then sighs. “I’ve told you this before…”

“Your step-dad works for the Notts?” Sirius says incredulously. “You’ve been helping out there?”

“Yes,” Peter says impatiently. “I’ve told you this.”

“You never said it was run by bloody Death Eaters!” 

The room goes silent. James glances at Peter, who has gone white, and then goes a strange blotchy pink. Sirius is looking at Peter as if disgusted. 

“Padfoot -” James begins.

“You take that back!” Peter says shrilly. James startles; he’s never heard Peter raise his voice before, and certainly not to Sirius. 

“No!” Sirius says. “Wormtail, the Nott heir is best mates with my cousin Narcissa’s husband - he was best man at their wedding - if you’re working for this man -”

“It’s not Edmund!” Peter says hotly, crossing his arms across his chest. “It’s his grandfather.”

“Cantankerus Nott?” Sirius shakes his head, then says, voice heavy with sarcasm, “Well, if it’s only the guy that published the Sacred 28 then that’s absolutely fine and dandy, isn’t it. Merlin, Peter, are you stupid? What the hell is your step-dad in with?”

“He’s not in with anything!” Peter shouts. “He works there, that’s all! You’re such a hypocrite anyway - you just said, your cousin is friends with these people. _Best_ friends. I think that says a lot more about your family than it ever will about mine, and you’ve just spent two whole weeks with them -”

“Woah, woah, okay,” James says, quickly stepping in between Sirius and Peter. Sirius has made a step towards Peter, dropping his bag to the floor, and James puts his back to Peter, holding his own hands up in front of Sirius. “Let’s all calm down. Sirius, you can’t just go around accusing -”

“I know the Notts,” Sirius says, shooting Peter a dark look over James’ shoulder. “I know what sort of people they are.”

“Sirius, think of what you’re saying,” James says, lowering his voice. He’s struggling to control his own temper, and can’t help but agree with Peter on this one. Harrington Mawsley may not have made a great first impression, but Sirius is being a massive hypocrite. People can’t help who they’re related to, or who they work with. The magical community is so small, every so often you’re bound to rub shoulders with the more unpleasant sort of people. “So what if Pete’s step-dad works for the guy? It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Don’t bother, James,” Peter says, breathing heavily. “If Sirius wants to end up with no friends, then he’s going the right way about it. He has his family after all.”

Peter ducks around James to the door as Sirius lunges forward; James holds Sirius back and doesn’t let go until the door to the dormitory has banged shut. 

James drops his arms to his sides and frowns at Sirius. “What the hell are you doing? It’s _Peter_.”

“You don’t understand,” Sirius says. 

“No, because you’re making no sense at all. You’re judging one of your best friends because of some family connection? Do I need to spell out how idiotic that makes you?”

Sirius scowls at James but makes no reply. 

“Besides,” James continues, “this Harrington guy seems like a lot of hot air anyway. He also made it sound like he knows both your parents well, and have you ever heard of Harrington Mawsley until Pete mentioned him?”

“No,” Sirius mutters, picking up his bag again. “My parents wouldn’t invite half-bloods around to dinner.”

“Exactly,” James says. “So to me it just seems like this guy is a bit of a social climber. Or an attempted one anyway. I doubt he even sees any of the Notts. He just works there, Sirius. No need to go mental at Wormtail over it.”

Sirius rubs his hands over his face. James eyes him apprehensively.

“Now, can I trust you to go down to breakfast without killing Wormtail?”

Sirius rolls his eyes. “James,” he says, sounding exhausted. “Stop trying to help everyone all the time.”

He turns and leaves the room, and James swears at the closing door. He can’t remember ever being angry at Sirius before, not since First Year when he used to spout a load of Pureblood nonsense that had been force-fed him by his parents. James had wanted to hit him then too. 

James goes to breakfast, not because he’s particularly hungry, but more because he wants to keep an eye on Sirius. He needn’t have worried though; Sirius isn’t at the table when James arrives in the Great Hall. James looks along the rows of Gryffindors - no Lily either, he sees, but that’s hardly surprising - and then he dumps himself into a seat beside Peter, and opposite Remus and Marlene.

“Morning,” Remus says, watching James closely as he reaches for the toast.

“Pete’s been updating you then?” James says.

Peter doesn’t look contrite in the slightest. Instead he looks at James, a rare challenging look in his blue eyes, his cheeks still flushed and pink from his confrontation with Sirius.

James sighs. “It’s okay,” he says, clapping a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Sirius was bang out of order.”

“I’m pleased I’m not the only one receiving the Black charm,” Remus mutters. 

“Oh, hell, is Black on the warpath?” Marlene asks, pouring James a strong cup of coffee and pushing it over to him. James smiles gratefully at her. “I remember when you four had just started at Hogwarts and how you used to row. Lupin and Pettigrew here nearly wet themselves.”

“That’s a slight exaggeration,” Remus says.

“Yeah, and I’m not scared of Sirius anymore,” Peter says.

Marlene raises an eyebrow at him. “Well, good for you. You shouldn’t be scared of your friends.”

“Sirius isn’t anything to be scared of,” James says, glaring around at them all. Remus, at least, has the grace to look slightly ashamed. “He’s our best friend - and yeah, he’s our friend that’s being a bit of a wanker right now - but we still need to be here for him. Okay, Pete?”

“’Course,” Peter mumbles, twirling his spoon around in his bowl of porridge.

“We will be here for him,” Remus says, looking steadily at James. “But for that to happen, you have to admit - Sirius has to be here.”

He gestures around at the table, completely devoid of one Sirius Black. James wishes Remus did not have such a valid point. It’s hard to help someone who refuses to be found, and when Sirius goes missing in action, it’s hard to track him down. If Sirius doesn’t want to be found, then he won’t be. 

James sighs. “We need to speed up production on the Map,” he says quietly, so only Remus and Peter can hear.

Remus cocks an eyebrow. “Designed for mischief and hijinks in theory - in reality, a way to keep track of your wayward friends.”

“That is not being the slogan,” James says, eliciting a wry smirk from Remus and a splutter of laughter from Peter. 

The atmosphere eases after that, and James feels the tension leave his body as they finish breakfast and make their way to Charms. Unfortunately the feeling doesn’t last long: as soon as they enter Flitwick’s classroom, James sees that Sirius is not there. By his side, Remus is looking around the class as well, frowning.

“Could have his career meeting with McGonagall,” Remus says quietly.

“Let’s hope so,” James mutters, taking a seat near the back. 

Remus sits next to Peter and James keeps a spare seat next to him in case Sirius shows up late, but he doesn’t appear at all during that first lesson. It’s a strange hour, two empty seats where Lily and Sirius should be, but Flitwick carries out the lesson with his usual enthusiasm. They practice Growth Charms, and by the end of the lesson James has decidedly longer eyebrows than he came in with, and Peter is insisting that his fingers are shorter than usual. Flitwick sorts them both out and they leave the main building to trek across to grounds to Care of Magical Creatures. As usual, the subject of conversation is their upcoming O.W.L’s, although James suspects that the level of their chatter is marked by a mutual, unvoiced decision for them not to talk about Sirius.

“It’s the theory I’m worried about the most,” Peter says as they walk down a grassy slope in the grounds, heading towards the edge of the Forest. “I think I have it all in my head, but when it comes to writing it down in the exams, I know I’ll just go blank.”

“You’ll be fine,” Remus says loyally. “I asked McGonagall for some past test papers to practice with during the holidays. I have last year’s Charms paper in the dorm. We can go over it tonight if you want.”

Peter pulls a face at the idea of extra work but accepts Remus’ offer anyway. James declines - the idea of additional Charms is not a pleasant thought; he’s improved loads over the last two years, and he reckons he’s got enough knowledge to easily swing at least an ‘E’ in the subject without nearly killing himself with extra revision. He’d rather spend his evening playing Quidditch, and he thinks maybe he’ll ask Alfie if he wants to have a mini-practice if Sirius isn’t in the mood. With most of the upper years struggling under the weight of exam stress, Fourth Year Alfie is the best bet to invite to a quick throw-about. 

Sirius doesn’t show up during Care of Magical Creatures and misses an interesting lesson on Fwoopers, and he’s nowhere to be seen during morning break. No one says anything but James knows both of his friends well enough to know that Remus is worried, and Peter’s anger has disappeared into concern. As Peter and James get ready for Divination and Remus heads off to Arithmancy, they agree to meet at the Muggle Studies classroom afterwards to see if Sirius turns up for that lesson, although by now James is seriously doubting he’ll bother with any of his lessons today if he’s already skived off two. 

“See you in an hour,” James says to Remus, before he and Peter make the long walk to Divination. 

Twenty minutes in, and James wishes he had skipped class. Professor Melrose is a sombre teacher who doesn’t inject much personality into his lesson plans at all; James finds it hard to take interest in the subject at the best of times, and personally can’t wait until next year when he can drop Divination altogether. Their lesson today is about hydromancy, and James tries to focus on his bowl of water he’s supposed to be scrying into. 

“This is such a waste of time,” James says quietly.

Melrose moves about in the shadows, adjusting scrying bowls accordingly, swirling the water around, tutting, sighing, shaking his head, and generally being ominous for effect. 

Peter squints into his own bowl, his face screwed up in effort, and then sits back with a sigh. 

“See anything?” James asks.

Peter shrugs. “Nah. I thought I saw a hand, but then it moved. Probably a shadow. The textbook says the hand symbolises giving - oh, wait, or losing. Blimey, it’s not very clear, is it, all this Seeing business?”

“Not unless you have The Gift,” James says solemnly, adopting his best Melrose impersonation. Peter laughs. James looks around the classroom; Melrose is distracted at the other end of the room, looming over Moira O’Shea. “Hey, Wormtail, want to get out of here?”

“Always,” Peter says with a groan. “But we have half an hour. Quick, write something down about me losing a hand - Melrose will eat that right up, the morbid bastard.”

James shoots Melrose another look to double check that he’s busy, and then he ducks down under the table and rummages about in his bag, pulling out the Invisibility Cloak. Peter’s eyes light up at the sight of the shimmering material.

The Divination class is a small one, and the students who do take it are all either staring intently into their scrying bowls with looks of grim concentration, or hastily flicking through Unfogging the Future. No one is looking their way, sat as they are in the shadowiest corner of the room, and James manages to slip under the Cloak and hold the other side up for Peter to duck under as well with no one noticing. They creep past Melrose and towards the trap-door, thankfully kept open because of the near stifling heat in the classroom. Getting down the ladder is tricky but the corridor below is deserted. The only beings they have to be on the look-out for are Peeves and Mrs Norris as James leads them down two flights of stairs. 

Peter is the shortest of James’ friends, and by the time they reach the Arithmancy classroom James has an aching back from stooping down and Peter is panting slightly with the effort of keeping up with James’ much longer legs. James shushes him, pushes open the door, and peeks inside to see the Arithmancy lesson in full swing. Professor Charcross is waving her wand energetically at the blackboard in front of the class, numbers flying across the board and rearranging themselves on a complex looking chart, and on the front row of single desks is Remus, diligently writing everything she says down. Charcross looks across briefly when the door creaks open, but then shrugs it off and carries on lecturing. 

James whispers, “Keep close, Wormtail,” and the two of them begin their awkward shuffle-walk across to where Remus’ desk is. They stop right beside him, one edge of the Cloak tickling his neck, and Remus stills instantly. Before he can freak out, James says, quietly, “Just us, Moony. You think you can skip the last fifteen minutes?”

“You bloody idiots,” Remus murmurs.

Charcross looks up. “Problem with the equation, Mr Lupin?” she asks briskly.

“No, er, no, Professor. I just - I feel a bit unwell actually. May I please go to the Hospital Wing?”

“What a surprise, Lupin is sick again,” Jacob Yaxley mutters. 

James aims his wand at the Slytherin’s head but Charcross is already excusing Remus. James pockets his wand, grinning, and he and Peter quickly exit the room to wait for Remus outside. Remus waits until they’re around the corner and away from the classroom completely before he asks what on earth they think they’re doing.

“We’re going to go to the Muggle Studies classroom early and making sure Sirius can’t give us the slip. He can’t avoid us if he can’t see us,” James says, pleased with his own plan. “And, you know,” he adds thoughtfully, “Divination is boring.”

They get to the Muggle Studies classroom five minutes before the lesson is due to end. The three of them stand well back, still covered in the Cloak, as students file from the classroom, but there’s no Sirius. James even looks into the room after the last student has disappeared, but theres just Professor Laughton tidying some papers on his desk.

“Damn it,” James breathes, although he’s not really surprised, just agitated that he has no idea where Sirius could be.

“At least we know he’s not just avoiding lessons with us in them,” Peter says. “That’s something, right?”

Remus has gone silent. James starts moving them forward again. In a moment the hallways will be packed with students going to lunch, so they had better take the Cloak off somewhere safe before they get trampled. James is about to suggest they take it off here but then he hears someone whistling around the corner and he pauses, one hand poised to tear the Cloak off them all. James backs up against the wall again as Benjy Fenwick comes into view, holding a stack of what looks like small newspapers under his arm.

Fenwick walks into the classroom and greets Professor Laughton, but the teacher looks less than pleased to see him. Remus tugs on James’ arm, but James shushes him, watching Fenwick and Laughton from the doorway.

“Mr Fenwick, I’ve told you, you can’t leave those here…”

“With respect, Professor, I’ve checked the school rules and there is nothing to say that students can’t distribute material promoting their own extra-curricular clubs.”

Laughton’s voice is stern. “That’s not what you’re doing and you know it. I’m perfectly happy for you to continue the Muggle Studies Club, but those magazines are staying out of it. Either put up posters in the common rooms advertising the days and times of the club, like everyone else, Mr Fenwick, or disband it completely.”

“James,” Peter hisses, pulling on his sleeve. “Come on or we might miss Sirius at lunch!”

James has a feeling that Peter’s eagerness is more to do with the fact that his stomach is rumbling loudly rather than any actual hope that Sirius might be at lunch, but he follows his friends anyway. Peter starts helping himself to mashed potatoes as soon as he sits down but James scans the Gryffindor Table first - no Sirius. He sits down heavily, his appetite gone.

“I wonder what Fenwick was up to?” he asks.

Remus surprises him by answering. “He’s got a magazine.”

“He’s got a what?”

“A magazine. Some sort of Muggle-born interest paper. It’s completely Muggle, no moving pictures, nothing magical. He prints it at home with the help of his mum. She knows someone in the publishing world.”

James blinks at all of this. “You know a lot about it. I’ve never even heard of it!”

“Prefects have been told to confiscate any copies they see. Fenwick can’t get in trouble for printing it because he did it at home, but copies aren’t allowed in school. Laughton should have really taken the lot. And I’m betting you’re not exactly the target audience.”

“Well - what’s the point of it?” James asks, frowning. “Why are students not allowed them? It seems perfectly harmless.”

Remus shrugs. “I’ll let you know when I confiscate one.”

The rest of the day drags on, and Sirius doesn’t show up for Potions or History of Magic. James can’t fault him for the last one; if he had skipped nearly a day’s worth of lessons, there’s no way he’d choose to show up for an hour of the centaur rights movement at the very end of the day. James is nearly asleep when the lesson ends, and isn’t even aware it has ended - Binns tends to keep talking, regardless of whether or not the bell has rung - until Remus is tugging him to his feet.

“We’re all failing that O.W.L,” James says, running a hand over his face and failing to stifle a yawn as they exit the classroom.

Remus nods grimly. “Completely.”

James decides a brisk fly will wake him up, and he skips dinner, still not feeling particularly hungry. He stops off at the dorm to drop off his bag and grab his broom, and half-heartedly checks Sirius’ bed, but of course it’s empty. He can’t see Alfie anywhere in the common room either, but is feeling too impatient to go and find him at dinner. James makes his way to the pitch on his own, the slight breeze ruffling his hair, but he stops short when he sees the pitch is already in use - kind of.

It’s not a full practice, just one solitary figure, and James’ heart leaps for a moment, thinking it’s Sirius, until he sees that the figure is clad in green and silver.

“Potter,” Regulus greets him, hovering a few inches above the ground and watching as James walks on to the pitch. 

“Is he with you?” James asks. 

Regulus cocks his head. The gesture is extremely Sirius-like, and this just causes James’ bad mood to come flooding back. So much for a quick fly to calm him down.

“Pardon?”

“Sirius,” James says. “Have you seen him?”

“My brother and I don’t really socialise at school,” Regulus says slowly. “Haven’t you heard? Those are the rules.”

“Yeah, well, from what I hear the rules have changed.”

Regulus dismounts from his broom. “I don’t know what my brother told you -”

“Not a lot, funnily enough!” James says. “All I know is he disappeared with you -”

“- came home to his family, you mean -”

“- and now he’s being completely weird! Haven’t seen him all day.”

Regulus regards him coolly. “Neither have I.”

“Right,” James says tersely, “like you’d tell me anyway.”

“Sorry,” Regulus says. He speaks exactly as Sirius had in First Year, somehow managing to sound cold and disinterested and polite all at once. “Of course. Silly me. I have him locked up in the Slytherin common room, I was just out for a swift fly before I go back and sacrifice him to Salazar.”

James raises his eyebrows. “Sarcasm doesn’t suit you.”

“Well, then you know I’m not mingling with my brother,” Regulus replies. He pulls off his Quidditch gloves and tucks them into the pocket of his robes, and then shoulders his broom. “Delightful chatting to you as always, Potter. Enjoy your practice.”

James watches him leave, and isn’t even aware that he’s gripping his broom as tight as he is until it bucks his hand off and zooms a little out of his reach. James sighs and goes to grab it back, but it flies a few more inches away. 

“Oh, come on,” James says impatiently. “I’m sorry. Come here.”

The broom hovers higher. It doesn’t budge one bit towards him.

“Well, fine!” James shouts. “You can bloody well go and sod off as well. I should use you for kindling.”

His broom tilts sharply to the side, the handle of it whacking him on the shoulder before he even realises what is happening. James swears, rubbing his arm, but at least his anger has gone. _Nothing like getting into a fight with your broomstick to make you realise what a prat you’re being,_ he thinks darkly, and glances around him, hoping that nobody - least of all Regulus - has just witnessed that particularly embarrassing display. 

The pitch is deserted - of humans, anyway. On the sidelines near the edge of the stands is a large black dog, watching him steadily. James stares back for a moment, wondering if he’ll bolt, but the dog stays put. 

“If I come near you, will you bite?” James calls. “Because I’m finished being attacked for the evening.”

The dog doesn’t respond. There’s not even a single wag of the tail. James sighs and moves towards it. 

“You bloody idiot,” James says, sitting down next to Padfoot. “We’ve been worried sick. Have you been a dog all day?” 

He doesn’t need an answer. Padfoot stinks of the Forest, his paws and underbelly are wet, his fur damp and musty-smelling. There’s a twig in the fur at the base of his tail, and James picks it out. 

“Are you going to talk?”

Padfoot looks balefully at him. 

“Do you want me to change?”

This gets a faint growl, and James sighs.

“All right, keep your fur on. It’s hard to know exactly what you want at the best of times, let alone when you’re a dog.” James pauses, and then asks, “Were you watching Regulus?” Padfoot stands up, and James says, quickly, before he can leave, “Because that’s fine. Whatever. I was just wondering if you’d managed to pick up any of his tactics, that’s all.” 

Padfoot turns and looks at James, his ears moving forward. He doesn’t sit back down. James holds out a hand, and slowly Padfoot moves towards him, bumping his nose against James’ fingers. His nose is wet and cold. Padfoot nuzzles into James’ hand once, and then turns and runs off, back in the direction of the Forest, a streak of black across the grounds.

James doesn’t mention seeing Padfoot to Remus or Peter when he gets back to the common room. In the morning, Sirius is back in his bed, and he meets James’ eye across the room as they’re both getting ready, and Sirius acknowledges him with a brief nod. 

“He’s back,” Peter says, when Sirius has left the room.

“And he didn’t try to take our heads off,” Remus adds in some surprise.

James allows himself a small smile. Sirius is by no means back to his usual self, but he’s not a dog hiding in the Forest either, so James is going to chalk this one up as a win. 

::

Sirius is strange during that first week back. He’ll sit with James during lessons, and he joins them all one evening to revise Potions, but there’s definitely something unmistakably changed about him. James can’t put his finger on what it is exactly, and Sirius goes along to Quidditch practice and he goes to all his lessons and he studies in the common room and sits with them all during mealtimes, but it’s all so - structured, contained, almost like Sirius is following a script he doesn’t dare falter from. Peter asks him to pass the marmalade one morning and Sirius does so without putting anything nasty in it or getting it in Pete’s hair; one afternoon Moira O’Shea’s toad is missing in the common room and instead of being the person who hid it, Sirius retrieves it with a simple, almost bored ‘Accio’; he hands in his homework on time and answers all their questions in a controlled, polite manner, and the whole thing is so maddening that on Friday evening James slams his deck of cards down on the table he’s sharing with Sirius, causing Peter sat nearby to jump and smudge ink all over his homework.

“What are you playing at, Sirius?” James demands, ignoring Peter’s curses.

Sirius looks up at him. “I thought we were playing Exploding Snap.”

“No. Not that. You. This week. With all the -” James flaps his hand erratically. “This morning I turned Snape’s porridge into sawdust and you didn’t even notice.”

“I’m sorry?” Sirius blinks at him.

“I don’t want you to be sorry,” James says with a sigh. “I want you to be Sirius. You should have been in on that prank, but you’re so - disinterested all the time.”

“I thought it was a great prank,” Peter says brightly, after Remus has cleared the mess of ink off of his Charms work and handed it back to him. “Snivellus spat it all out over Mulciber’s lap -”

“I miss my best mate,” James says, not breaking eye contact with Sirius.

“I haven’t gone anywhere,” Sirius says quietly. “I’m just trying to - to keep my head down, all right? Isn’t that what you lot are always telling me to do?”

“At home,” James says impatiently. “Not with us. Not with me. You can be yourself around us.”

“James,” Sirius says, looking tired and sad and very young all of a sudden. “I just -”

The portrait hole swings open, Lily Evans walks in, and the common room goes silent. She’s flanked on either side by Mary and Dorcas, both of which are glaring at the rest of the Gryffindors. The majority of them get the hint and go back to what they were all doing with much exaggerated talking and shuffling of parchment and books, but James can’t tear his eyes away from Evans. She’s pale, and James doesn’t know if he’s being dramatic or over-thinking it but she seems thinner. Mary and Dorcas guide her through the common room and up the girl’s staircase, and James watches her all the way. When she disappears from view, he turns back to his friends, only to find that Sirius has gone.

“He said he was going for a walk,” Peter says apologetically. “You were gawping at Evans.”

James swears furiously. “I wasn’t - he’s so - she’s - Merlin’s balls!” 

James kicks out at the leg of the coffee table and for a fraction of a second it makes him feel better.

::

It’s another couple of days before Evans comes back to lessons, and when she does appear in the middle of Transfiguration, McGonagall nods curtly to her and gestures at the empty seat that’s been left next to Mary, and then swiftly carries on talking about the theory of Colour-Changing as if there had been no interruption. Evans is silent for the rest of the hour, and barely says two words in Potions despite Slughorn hovering constantly by her cauldron. 

James watches her over the steam of his own bubbling potion, and he realises he’s not the only one. Snape is eyeing her from across the room, his beady eyes not leaving Evans for a second, even as he shreds his salamander skin, and James grips his knife hard as Snape eventually gets up and heads towards the store cupboard for more ingredients, leaving a folded up note on Evans’ table as he passes. 

Evans opens it but her face doesn’t betray any emotion. She pockets the note, and James grits his teeth and flings a handful of the nearest powder into his cauldron.

“Ah, James,” Remus begins, just as the potion belches bright purple liquid over the both of them.

::

Focusing on Evans at least distracts James from Sirius. In the common room after Potions, Sirius is huddled in a corner flicking through a Muggle Studies book - even from a distance James can see the freaky non-moving pictures - and James hesitates for a moment before deciding to leave him alone and instead heads towards where Evans is sat by the fire.

Mary glares up at him as he approaches. “Potter -” she begins warningly.

He doesn’t sit down. “Lily,” he says gruffly, wishing he’d practiced this beforehand. She glances up at him warily. “I just wanted to say - I’m very sorry about your dad.”

A strange expression like a flinch passes over her face. Her mouth turns downward, and she frowns at a space just beyond his shoulder as she nods jerkily.

“Thanks, Potter,” she says quietly.

James bobs his head, offering what he hopes is a sympathetic and comforting smile, and then backs away, holding up his hands in a peace-making gesture to Mary. Sitting down next to Remus and Peter, he tilts his head back and exhales.

“Well, that was - Merlin, what do you say?” he asks.

Remus turns a page of his book. “You said what you’re expected to say. Mary was right; the best thing to do is not to crowd her.”

“You did well!” Peter says encouragingly. “Should earn you some points.”

“I’m not after scoring points with her, Peter,” James says, whacking him on the arm. “Her dad just died. Show some respect.”

Peter rubs his arm, looking wounded. “I only meant -”

James sighs. “It’s okay. Sorry.” He decides to change the subject away from Peter’s utter lack of tact. “I’m surprised she’s back so soon after the funeral.”

“You know Lily,” Remus says. “She’s a fighter.”

In the corner Sirius stands up, and all of James’ worried feelings about Evans transfer themselves back to Sirius as he watches him pack his things away and exit the common room.

“Dare I ask if you know where he’s going?” James mutters.

Remus shakes his head. “Not a clue. One of his many walks I guess.”

“How many walks can one person take?” Peter asks wonderingly. “He’s probably got the castle memorised by now.”

James sighs. A part of him wants to go after Sirius but a larger part knows it would be no good. He and Remus have discussed this at length, and both have decided that there’s nothing much that they can do. Sirius isn’t being a danger to himself or anyone else - annoyingly, he isn’t doing much of anything. The real test will be next week, James knows; it’s the full moon and they’re all wondering if Sirius will show up for it. Until then, the best thing that they can do is wait this whole thing out. James just wishes he was better at waiting.


	71. the shafiqs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I decided to do NaNoWriMo this year and *very* nearly won, which to me is a huge deal as (I'm sure you've all noticed...) I don't write too frequently. Trying hard to change that, and I think NaNo helped! I finally got to the end of Fifth Year written down, so exciting times ahead!
> 
> Thank you for reading - it's been lovely to have comments coming in even though this fic can go a bit dormant at times!

_Early May 1976._

Regulus wakes up to the Slytherin version of the dawn chorus, a mixture of the rhythmic sound of water thumping gently against the window, strange echoing sounds from the lake, and the distant ethereal calls of the merpeople. It’s early, the dormitory still in shadow and full of the steady breathing of his dorm-mates, and Regulus dresses as quietly as he can, making sure he takes his warmest cloak before he leaves the common room. It might be nearly summer, but the dungeons are cold, especially at 5am. 

He’s always been a light sleeper. Ever since he was a little boy, he’s found it hard to get a full night’s rest without stirring in the night or waking up exceptionally early. Before he came to Hogwarts, when he was much younger, Sirius and Bellatrix used to tease him and tell him stories of the ghosts that haunt Grimmauld Place. Their stories would petrify Regulus and he wouldn’t be able to sleep properly, half-expecting the Grey Ghoul to get him if he dared close his eyes. Once, Sirius had dressed in bedsheets and jumped out at Regulus as he returned from the bathroom in the middle of the night; Regulus had shrieked as he thought he was being grabbed by one of the many ghosts that Sirius had told him love to eat little wizards, and both his parents and Kreacher had come running. His parents were not sympathetic; his mother told him scathingly that Grimmauld Place did not have any ghosts and even if they did, Blacks were not afraid. They’d punished Sirius for the prank as well, and Kreacher had secretly brought Regulus a cup of warm cocoa when everyone else had gone back to bed, but the incident did not help a young Regulus with his sleeping habits at all. 

Their mother had always advocated an early start in the morning. Kreacher was sent to wake them up no later than 7.30am, and they’d be expected in the dining room for breakfast at eight o’clock sharp. This habit of rising early has stuck with Regulus; even during the holidays he can’t sleep if it gets past a certain time, and he’s a constant source of complaining from his dorm-mates as he is usually the first to wake up.

Today, he wants to use his early start to practice Quidditch. Slytherin have an upcoming game against Hufflepuff in the next few days. Hufflepuff lost to Ravenclaw in the last game and if they lose this one, they are out of the running for the Cup. Ravenclaw have won every match apart from their first one with Slytherin, and still have a healthy amount of points to be in the running. Slytherin will need to beat Hufflepuff and Gryffindor by a healthy margin, and Regulus is feeling the pressure.

Before heading to the pitch, he takes a detour to the kitchens for a flask of tea and an early breakfast. If he can, he’ll skip breakfast in the Great Hall entirely - he wants to get as much practice in as possible, especially because his last attempt had been interrupted by James Potter, and also because as of late, being around any of his friends for prolonged periods of time makes Regulus uncomfortable. Ever since the Easter holidays, everyone has been full of questions about his brother, about the lunch with their mother, and about what happened to make Sirius stay for the whole two week break.

“He’s back then?” Evan asked, the first night back at school. “The prodigal heir returns?”

Regulus can’t stand their constant questioning and poking into his life. The situation with Sirius is confusing enough to him, he doesn’t know where on earth he’d begin trying to explain it to an outsider. At least if he goes to the kitchens for breakfast, no one there will bother him. 

Of course, the idea of a bit of peace and quiet is clearly too much to ask for, and it’s for that reason that Regulus rounds the corner to the kitchen entrance to find Sirius suddenly there as well. 

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” Regulus says, sighing at the sight of him.

Sirius raises his eyebrows. “Good morning to you too. Not pleased to see me?”

Regulus grits his teeth. “I’m just surprised you’re awake so early. I wasn’t aware you knew that there were two five o’clocks in the day.”

“Ah, little brother, you assume I’ve been to sleep!”

Regulus stares at him. “Of course. That would be a sane person thing to do. What are you even doing, skulking around by yourself?”

Sirius just smiles at him. Regulus can’t help but think back to his encounter with James Potter, about how Potter had no idea where Sirius was. He’s fairly certain that when Potter wakes up in the Gryffindor dormitory, the sight of Sirius’ empty bed will come as a surprise. 

_At least I’m not the only one avoiding my friends,_ Regulus thinks. He sighs again, regarding Sirius, and then says, “I’m going for a cup of tea. Are you coming or not?”

::

The house-elves are pleased to see him. He and Sirius perch on stools as the elves rush around them preparing for breakfast. Busy though they are, a tray still appears before them laden with a pot of tea and a plate full of buttery toast on white and brown bread. 

Sirius reaches for a piece. “I never fail to be impressed at the service here,” he says conversationally. “They’re always so friendly for house-elves.”

“House-elves generally are friendly,” Regulus says.

Sirius laughs. “Is Kreacher just a product of our dear family home then?” he asks.

Regulus wants to upend his brother’s cup of tea over his lap. Sirius is acting as though this is normal, the two of them having breakfast together, as if they normally don’t spend their time at school heartily avoiding one another. Regulus looks at him searchingly, but if Sirius is feeling any discomfort, then he’s hiding it exceptionally well. He just reaches for another piece of toast and pours milk into his cup of tea, looking around at all the flurry in the kitchen with interest. Regulus wishes _he_ could act as nonchalantly as Sirius does, but instead he feels like he did for the whole two weeks of the Easter break: nervous, on edge, too worried that Sirius was suddenly going to disappear to actually enjoy the fact that Sirius was home for once.

Regulus has gotten so used to Sirius’ absence, that suddenly having him home had been strange. Sirius had been quiet and withdrawn, and not in his usual moody and dramatic way. Instead he had just seemed - resigned. He never argued with their mother, not since the meeting at Moreau’s, and in a way the silence that permeated around them all had been louder than any shouting ever had been. Regulus had missed having his brother at home with him for years, and then suddenly he had him, and it was like having a stranger with him.

Sirius wouldn’t talk about what happened in the restaurant either. Regulus tried to broach the subject once after dinner, when the two of them were alone in the drawing room, but Sirius had changed the subject and asked if Regulus wanted to play chess. Regulus hated himself a bit for it, but he’d let the subject drop, set up the chess board, and never mentioned it again. 

Their mother had watched Sirius closely the whole time he was back. Sirius never put one toe out of line, he didn’t pull any pranks or give any back talk to his parents, and this is what Regulus had wanted, had yearned so desperately for - his family together, no arguments, and yet Sirius was so un-Sirius that it didn’t feel real. 

Regulus had expected it all to change completely when they got back to Hogwarts, but to his surprise Sirius had sat with him on the train back, and if the rumours were anything to go by, then he’d been falling out with his friends and is now, apparently, avoiding them. Regulus wishes he knew what it all meant but Sirius has never been one to talk about his feelings with Regulus and Regulus doubts he’s going to start now.

Still, this is the most normal Regulus has seen his brother. Even the jab at Kreacher and their home feels more true to the real Sirius Black. 

“So, which one is your favourite?” Sirius asks.

Regulus is jolted out of his reverie and sees that Sirius is staring at him inquisitively.

“Pardon?”

“The house-elves,” Sirius says, gesturing around at them all. “Which is your favourite? You must have a friend.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Regulus says, his cheeks warming. 

Sirius smiles. “All right, keep your hat on. So what are you doing up so early if you’re not here to see your best mate the elf?”

“I was going for a fly,” Regulus says reluctantly. Sirius just nods, and Regulus can’t help but ask, “What, are you not going to tell me it’s no use and you’re going to beat us anyway because I’m rubbish?”

Sirius shrugs. “Nah. You fly pretty well.” A grin flits across his face and he adds, “The rest of your team, however, are pretty appalling…”

Regulus rolls his eyes. He knew his brother was there somewhere.

::

Regulus leaves the kitchen just as the elves are sending the food up to the Great Hall. Sirius, unable to stop yawning, heads off in the direction of the staircase to Gryffindor Tower and Regulus, knowing his friends will be sat down for breakfast now and the coast will be clear, slips out of the main entrance doors and makes his way to the Quidditch pitch.

It’s because he’s practicing for the upcoming game that he misses out on the morning post, and so he doesn’t hear about any of it until he’s back in the Slytherin common room an hour later. He finds Aegir, Evan, and Barty sat together on the green leather sofas, a copy of The Daily Prophet on the coffee table.

“Regulus,” Evan says, spotting him first. “Where have you been? Have you heard -?”

Regulus’ attention is caught by the paper. He scoops it up, discarding his broom, and reads the front page with a frown: _ATTACK ON PROMINENT WIZENGAMOT MEMBER._

He reads the article, his heartbeat quickening, as his friends all clamour to fill him in on the details.

“It’s that Shafiq -”

“The one that recently voted against that bill on Mudbloods and the registration -”

“ - his whole family, apparently -”

“I suppose it serves him right,” Barty finishes with a smug grin.

“Is he - is he dead?” Regulus asks, turning the page of the newspaper, but the next article is something about a report of a giant sighting in Cumbria and the Ministry dismissing it - below the headline is a flustered looking Minchum decreeing it “absolute hogwash.” Regulus folds the newspaper, looks around at his friends. “This Shafiq? It doesn’t say. Is he dead?”

Aegir gives a strange laugh. “I’d say it’s pretty likely, wouldn’t you think?”

“Yeah, I doubt they’d let him live,” Evan says casually. “I mean, his family was in the 28 as well. What a disgrace. I hope they got the lot.”

“He had children,” Regulus says, looking hesitantly back down at the newspaper.

Barty shrugs. “I think so. Shame that they let people like that breed. Hey, maybe a well as the Mud registration we should have one for blood-traitors as well!”

Aegir chuckles. “It would make it easier to avoid them.”

Regulus stares at him. A part of him wants to point out that he’s only a Wilkes, that his name doesn’t appear anywhere in the Sacred 28, but suddenly he feels very tired and isn’t in the mood for stirring up arguments. He has a mountain of Transfiguration homework due for the coming week, but the thought of his bed is a lot more tempting. He tells his friends he’s going for a nap, and leaves them all pouring over the newspaper as he heads to the dormitory.

The attack on the Shafiq family is all anyone talks about for days. The Death Eaters claim responsibility, as if anyone had any doubt, and the next day the paper is full of pictures of the Shafiq family. Hamza Shafiq, a member of the Wizengamot, is pictured in the middle of a full family photograph with his wife on their wedding day. Further down in the article are photos of their children and his nephew, who was also at the house on the night of the attack.

“Ruksana and Naveed,” Regulus reads from the caption of the photo of the children. It’s one of them as young children, photographed on the beach in the arms of their father. “Did they attend Hogwarts? I’ve never heard of them.”

“Well, no,” Barty says, slowly, looking up at Regulus from his dinner with a small frown. “That’s because they didn’t get their letter yet. That photo was the most recent one.”

Regulus looks back down at the photograph, at the smiling, laughing siblings. The children look no older than seven or eight years old. A feeling of distaste curling in the pit of his stomach, Regulus folds the newspaper up and sets it to one side, his appetite fled.

It seems he’s in the minority in his group of friends for finding the whole thing in bad taste. Of course the blood-traitors should be punished, but killing children seems a bit extreme. Aegir and Evan just look at him as if he’s touched in the head when he mentions this one evening in the common room.

“That’s why they’re called extremists, Reg,” Evan says, almost impatiently. “The time for wishy-washy political correctness is past, wouldn’t you agree? It doesn’t matter that they were young. If there’s a problem, the best thing to do is pull it out at the roots, to stop it from growing. Those children would have grown up with all sorts of radical ideas.”

“Well said,” Joseph Mulciber says, pausing in his conversation with Jacob Yaxley to nod imperiously at them, causing Evan to flush with pride. “It’s high time the blood-traitors were taught a lesson. You can no longer hide behind a name anymore if your politics are all wrong. That’s the way it should be.”

“Seems like your brother changed his mind just in time, eh?” Aegir says to Regulus, winking at him as if the whole thing is some great lark. “Bad time to be labelled a blood-traitor.”

Regulus murmurs an agreement in the back of his throat and turns his attention back to his homework. He’s behind in Transfiguration, and soon all thoughts of the Shafiqs have been pushed to the back of his mind. He has his end of year exams soon, after all, and far more important things to concern himself with.


	72. careers meeting.

_Early May 1976._

Lily’s careers advice meeting falls during her Potions lesson, and she’s glad to be able to avoid an hour of being in a stuffy room with Severus making moon eyes at her over the steam of the cauldrons. They haven’t spoken properly since she’s returned to school, although he’s made a few attempts at getting her to talk to him: leaving her notes, hanging around after their joint lessons together, generally being a nuisance. Mary and Dorcas have taken to labelling him ‘the stalker’, and although Lily tells them they’re overreacting, privately she agrees. Severus is so far removed from the person that Lily had hoped he was, any desire to rekindle their friendship has well and truly crumbled into ash. Whenever she feels anything akin to missing him, she just has to seek him out in the Great Hall and see him deep in conversation with Mulciber, or remind herself forcibly that he spent Christmas with Regulus Black, and her feelings rebound right back into being disgusted with what he’s become. 

They do have the shared connection of Cokeworth lingering between them like a thread that refuses to be severed, and during the Easter holidays Lily had a few times longed to escape the overhanging sadness that permeated her house by going to see Severus. A few days after her dad passed away, Lily had even gotten so far as walking right to the top of Spinner’s End - she could see the Snape house from where she stood, the same small little terraced house with the dingy net curtains in the windows and the weeds growing in the front garden, the house looking as drab and unloved as it did when they were children - but she’d come to her senses and instead gone for a long walk along the canal by herself. 

Severus couldn’t help her, she just had to keep on reminding herself. If anything, seeing him would probably just cause another argument, and although one part of her longed to scream and shout and get angry at something, she knew that getting into a yelling match with Severus wouldn’t solve anything in the long run.

The best tactic has been avoiding him completely, and with Mary and Dorcas as her willing bodyguards, it’s been quite easy. Still, Lily is glad for the reason not to see him at all during Potions - Slughorn, the old fool, is completely blind when it comes to the moods of his pupils and has a habit of trying to pair the two of them up for projects - and Lily makes her way to McGonagall’s office feeling relieved. 

Everyone else has already had their careers advice, and Lily had wondered if hers would be cancelled altogether. Thankfully McGonagall has enough sense and knows Lily well enough to know that treating her any differently to everyone else would be the wrong move to make and so the appointment was simply postponed.

“It’s all right, really,” Dorcas had told her. “You just chat to McGonagall for an hour about your future and your ambitions.”

Some people, Peter especially, had looked horrified at the very thought, but Lily likes McGonagall and has never been stupid enough to get on her bad side, so she approaches her Head of House’s office feeling fairly confident about the meeting. She’s already glanced through the leaflets on the various jobs available once she’s graduated - she’s even read the ridiculous sounding one, just to keep her busy late at night when she can’t sleep and her mind is in danger of dwelling and moping.

To her great surprise, she’s not alone when she gets to McGonagall’s office. Benjy is lounging on a chair outside the door, turning what looks like a magazine over in his hands. 

“Detention?” she asks, stopping beside Benjy and looking down at him, her hand poised to knock on the door.

He grins up at her, jumping to his feet. “Waiting for you, actually. McGonagall mentioned she had a careers meeting, and I figured it must be you since - well.” He looks awkward for a fraction of a second but recovers quickly. “I was getting a bit of a telling off, truth be told, and thought seeing you would brighten things up.”

“I’m charmed,” she says dryly, but she smiles. “How come you’re in McGonagall’s bad books? Where’s Professor Flitwick?”

He pulls a face, shrugging. “He’s in London for the memorial for the Shafiq family. Apparently the Wizengamot guy was a Ravenclaw back in the day. So I got shipped off to McGonagall for punishment instead.”

“What did you do now?” 

“That’s why I was waiting for you,” Benjy says, lowering his voice. He casts a glance at McGonagall’s office and, taking Lily by the elbow, turns her away from the door slightly. In his other hand he holds out the magazine. Lily frowns at the title: _A Muddy View_. It’s not a publication she’s ever even heard of, let alone seen before. “Benjy, what -?”

“It’s mine,” he says, his voice hushed but hurried. “It’s why I’m in a bit of trouble.”

“Yours? You - you wrote this?” Lily asks, looking up at him. He looks serious, but excited. Whatever this is, Lily can tell it’s important to him.

“Me and a couple of others. Look, can we meet? In The Three Broomsticks on the next Hogsmeade weekend? I’m not allowed to have any copies on school grounds but Hogsmeade is fair game. At least, they haven’t told me I can’t.” He grins again. “You’ll probably get caught up to speed in your next Prefect meeting, so I wanted to get to you first and tell you, it’s not as bad as it seems.”

“Benjy, you’re not making much sense -”

“I know, sorry. Meet me in The Three Broomsticks on Saturday and I can tell you a bit more.” 

Benjy pulls out his wand, taps the magazine and mutters a spell Lily doesn’t catch. The magazine turns itself into a copy of The Quibbler.

“Impressive. And let me guess - McGonagall, our Transfiguration teacher, hasn’t caught on that you’ve Transfigured what I now assume is a banned magazine, into something completely harmless?”

“She’d probably go spare if she knew,” Benjy says with a wink. “She says I’m heading for trouble if I carry on, but anyone just has to look at the news to see we’re already all in big trouble. What’s one more rebellion in the face of chaos, eh?”

The door to the office opens, and Professor McGonagall appears in the doorway, staring at them both severely. 

“Miss Evans, I had wondered what was keeping you.”

“Better be going,” Benjy says cheerfully, stowing _The Quibbler_ out of sight in his bag. “Sorry, Professor. Bye, Lily.”

“Don’t forget, Mr Fenwick,” McGonagall calls after him crisply. “Sunday morning. My office.”

McGonagall has laid out tea and biscuits for their meeting, and has clearly gone to some effort to make sure this experience is a comfortable one, although now her manner is all business. She watches Lily archly as Lily walks into the office, and Lily can tell she’s wondering what exactly her conversation with Benjy had been about.

“Sorry, Professor,” Lily says, doing her best to look contrite. “Benjy was talking to me about - well, we haven’t seen each other since…since before the holidays.”

McGonagall’s expression softens, as much as McGonagall ever does look soft. She clears her throat, gesturing at Lily to take a seat in the chair opposite the desk. She nudges the plate of shortbread closer to Lily, who takes one, trying not to feel guilty that she’d just lied. Her mind is now full of thoughts about that magazine, and what exactly Benjy has been up to. She nibbles on the biscuit and when she looks up, Professor McGonagall is looking at her closely.

“How are you feeling, Miss Evans?” she asks briskly.

Lily hates this question. It’s a question she doubts anyone has ever answered completely honestly, and at the moment Lily has been hard pressed to identify any of her feelings even to herself, let alone being able to talk about them to someone else. In the weeks since her dad has passed away, emotions have slipped away from Lily like water running off her back. There’s been sadness, of course, but that seems to pale in comparison to the great yawning nothingness that haunts her most days. When helping to plan the funeral she felt useful; her body kicked in to organising mode without her having to really think or feel about anything. Decisions and preparations were made, and Lily had one single focus that kept her going: get through the funeral without completely falling apart, and for the most part, she’d succeeded. She had to be there for her mother, and she had to remember to do the mundane things like pay the florist and make sure everyone knew where the wake was being held and that they had enough cheese and onion pie for everyone. Petunia had done most of the meeting and greeting, accepting endless hugs and expressions of condolences, but Lily thinks if she’d had to deal with any of that she’d have screamed in their well-wishing faces. She’d been perfectly fine, as fine as she could be anyway, sorting things out behind the scenes, and the two of them together had supported their mother, taking it in turns to make tea and sit with her and watch whatever television program she wanted, sorting through the many cards they’d received, going over old photographs.

Now that it’s all over, it seems like some bizarre and extremely vivid dream. Petunia is staying for a while longer in Cokeworth - Vernon, thank God, had fled back to London as soon as was socially acceptable - and Lily had thought that the three of them wandering the house like ghosts was doing nobody any good. She’s glad of being back at Hogwarts, but now she has O.W.L’s looming and McGonagall wanting to know exactly what kind of career she wants to pursue in a few short years, and honestly, Lily is struggling to think why any of it really matters.

“I’m okay,” she says.

“Hmm.” McGonagall rests her chin on her steepled fingers, clearly not buying one word of it, but Lily appreciates it when she doesn’t push. “To business, then. Have you given any thought about what kind of field you would like to progress into when you graduate?”

“Yes,” Lily says automatically, because she has. She dutifully poured over all the leaflets she had sent to her, and while she’d found it easy to dismiss most of them - Gobblegook Translator; Crup Trainer - there were some that gave her hope that wizarding occupations were not all completely bonkers. “I thought - well, I thought about Healing, actually.”

McGonagall glances down at a roll of parchment in front of her. “You’ll need an ‘O’ in Potions and Charms, and of course you’d need to take them both to N.E.W.T level, but I see here your Potions grades are consistently good so I don’t imagine there would be an issue there, and Professor Flitwick tells me that you’re the best in the year at Charms.” Lily flushes slightly at this, squirming a bit in her chair. McGonagall smiles briefly before continiung. “Herbology, too, is a prerequisite, and at the moment you’re averaging an ‘E’ but I don’t doubt that could be turned into an ‘O’ with a bit of a push. St Mungo’s takes on full-time and part-time trainees, although I would recommend the full -”

“Professor,” Lily interrupts, and McGonagall’s gaze flicks up to her again. “I just wanted to know, actually, about the different types of Healing. The leaflets weren’t too clear.”

“What do you mean, Miss Evans? A Healer is usually employed at St Mungo’s, although you can be a private Healer such as Madam Pomfrey, and they help in all aspects regarding healing the physical body of their patients. You would be dealing with a wide variety of accidents and emergencies. There are different wards, of course - for example, some Healers are trained specifically in treating burns, but for the most part the list of duties is non-exhaustive and covers nearly everything you could think of.”

“Well,” Lily says, “that’s the thing. You say the physical body, and that’s fine, but what about - I couldn’t find reference to any sort of help available for anything to do with mental health.”

McGonagall frowns. “There is a ward dedicated to spell damage, and anyone who has received any trauma relating to a spell gone wrong, or any Dark magic -”

“I’m not talking about spell damage,” Lily says impatiently. “What about if someone is just depressed?” 

McGonagall blinks but otherwise her expression does not change. Lily sighs, sitting back in her chair and glaring defiantly at her teacher. 

“I mean, great, we can shove Pepper-Up Potion at someone who is feeling a bit peaky or shower them in Cheering Charms, but what about any sort of long-term help? Do we even have counselling? No one has ever said anything in the whole five years I’ve been part of this community. There’s a war going on - people are dying - and no one has ever said where we can go if we just need some help bloody coping with all of this!”

“Miss Evans, please refrain from swearing.” McGonagall takes off her glasses, wipes them on a handkerchief, and puts them back on. “I understand you are upset, and if you ever wish to talk about anything, you know my door is always open -”

“I’m sorry, Professor, but this isn’t going to be fixed by a plate of biscuits.”

“Are you referring to the awful business in the news,” McGonagall asks gently, “or your own personal loss?”

“All of it!” Lily says, her throat suddenly aching. She blinks furiously at the desk. Don’t cry now. “Everything is horrible at the moment, and it just seems like nobody is really offering any help. That’s what I want to do with my life, Professor. I want to help people. In any way I can - I’m sorry, but exams and jobs don’t seem very important at the moment. There must be something we can do now. Some way to help.”

McGonagall sighs. “Miss Evans, I have been conducting career meetings for Gryffindors for years now. I find it somewhat funny that out of the _hard-working_ pupils, the _knowledge-driven_ pupils, and the _ambitious_ pupils, I get my students, who are indeed all of the above, but who all have a certain streak of - recklessness - to them, and I have to steer them away from the prospect of fighting a war and into a career.”

“That doesn’t sound very funny,” Lily says starkly.

“No,” Professor McGonagall mutters, “no, I suppose it doesn’t.” She straightens up and once again pierces Lily with a look. “Miss Evans, you are not the first Gryffindor to express such desires, but I must remind you - as I am having to remind people increasingly often - that you are underage, in school, and under my care, and as such I am not about to condone you being anywhere near a war zone. Even in a Healing capacity.”

“But once I’m of age?” Lily asks, raising an eyebrow. “Once I graduate and I’m no longer under your care?”

“Let’s get you there first,” McGonagall says, jaw clenched. “Shall we talk about your N.E.W.T classes?”

::

“How did it go?” Dorcas asks, once Lily has returned to the common room. “You were gone ages.”

“I was busy taking McGonagall to task about the appalling lack of services to help people in this world with any problems they can’t see or aim a wand at,” Lily says, all in all feeling rather accomplished.

Dorcas blinks at her. “You what?”

Mary, however, chuckles. “About time someone said it.”

“What did I miss in Potions?” Lily asks, stretching out on the sofa.

“You mean apart from Snape asking a million questions about where you were?” Dorcas says. Lily grimaces as Dorcas rummages about in her bag and produces a stack of notes that she dumps on Lily’s lap. “Sluggy has us revising Confusing Draughts. If you finish that set of questions, there’s some further reading for next year - we’re going to be studying Amortentia, apparently, so you can get a head start on that.”

“Because we don’t have enough to do,” Lily mumbles, but she takes the homework anyway.

Mary exaggerates a shudder. “I can’t wait to drop Potions. I swear I nearly sliced my finger off today chopping that flobberworm.”

“You’re not continuing it?” Lily asks in some surprise. “It’s really useful.”

“You sound like McGonagall in my career meeting,” Mary says, rolling her eyes. “But no. I told her, I don’t really envision needing it in my future.”

“Oh yeah?” Lily packs away the notes in her own bag, and leans back on the sofa, closing her eyes. “And what does your future entail?”

“I’m getting the hell out of dodge, obviously,” Mary replies.

At this, Lily does pay attention. She sits back up, staring at Mary incredulously, sure that any moment Mary is going to crack a grin, nudge her in the ribs and say, “Just kidding!” but Mary stares back at her, perfectly solemn. Lily glances at Dorcas to see what she makes of this sudden declaration, but sees that to Dorcas, it’s apparently not so sudden. Dorcas sighs, shakes her head, but clearly looks as if this is a conversation they’ve already and she has no desire to repeat. Lily feels the sting of being left out of something apparently so huge, but she files it away for later and frowns back at Mary. 

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m going abroad,” Mary says, shrugging. She pops the end of her quill into her mouth and drops her gaze down to the parchment she’s writing on. “I don’t really see that there’s much for me in the UK. None of the wizarding jobs really jump out at me, and it all seems so pointless.”

“In what way?” Lily demands.

Dorcas mutters, “Leave it, Lil,” but Mary carries on, nonchalantly, “Well, every day our options are getting slimmer as Muggle-borns. I didn’t ask for this life. God, most days I don’t even want it anymore. I have a cousin in France, she’s a model, she says she can get me some contacts. She has an apartment by the Seine, it’s really lovely, there’s a spare room -”

“You’re running away?” Lily asks.

Mary’s cheeks are flushed, but she meets Lily’s gaze all the same. “I’m taking care of myself. I know you’re going to stay and get involved in - in whatever is happening. But I can’t, Lily. I’m not brave like you.”

“You’re a Gryffindor!” Lily says, almost desperately.

Mary’s smile is nearly sympathetic. “And we both know, in the Muggle world, that doesn’t mean anything. Wouldn’t that be a relief?”

::

_Dear Mum,_

_I had my career meeting with my professor this week, and I thought you’d like to know that I think I’m going to be going down the Healing route. That’s basically a doctor. Just think - you’ll be able to say your daughter works in a hospital and it won’t be a complete lie!_

_I hope you like the flowers, I thought the bright colours would look lovely in the living room and I’ve sent extra for dad if you visit the cemetery. They’ve got a spell on them so that they don’t need water, how cool is that?_

_I think going to stay with Aunt Karen is a great idea. I hate the thought of you on your own once Petunia goes back to London. I don’t blame you for not going with her though - Vernon and London smog all in one, no thank you! Just let me know when you’re planning to go so I know where to send future owls. Aunt Karen isn’t scared of birds, is she?_

_Everything is fine here and I’m getting on as best I can. Exams are coming so everything is very busy, probably a good thing. Please don’t worry about me, and send Petunia my love and wish her a safe trip from me._

_All my love,_

_Lily_


	73. the prank.

_Mid May 1976._

Maybe it’s because of the O.W.L exams creeping ever closer, lurking like an ominous shadow at the end of a very long, very tiring tunnel; or maybe it’s to do with the weather, which for the middle of springtime has been full of intermittent storms which bluster and blow themselves out as quickly as they come, so Remus never knows what kind of cloak to wear and invariably ends up getting soaked to the skin on his way to Care of Magical Creatures. Maybe it’s to do with the fact that Sirius hasn’t so much as looked at him for longer than thirty seconds since that first argument they had on their first night back at school; maybe it’s because, where once Remus felt the faint flutterings of hope beating against his ribcage like so many tiny, delicate birds, now he only feels the gnashing and gnarling of something angry and betrayed, and always, always tinged with the worry that comes from being best friends with Sirius Black. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s because it’s the morning of the full moon.

Whatever the reason, Remus Lupin is in a foul mood.

It starts out awful and doesn’t really get any better. He’d stayed up late working on an Astronomy essay. There’s due to be a lesson tonight about, of all things, the full moon, and Professor Keir had been flustered and apologetic as he had set Remus a different task and told him that unfortunately he’d have to give him a low mark for that particular lesson. Remus, the blood already boiling beneath the surface, had just stared at the doddering old professor until he’d half-thrown the homework at Remus and fled. Despite his anger at the unfairness of it all, Remus had gone to the Astronomy Tower first to map out the stars and then to chart Jupiters moons, but he’d not been alone. Remus doesn’t know why the Astronomy Tower is the favoured destination for hormone-addled teenagers at Hogwarts, but he’d had to dock points from a pimply, smug-faced Ravenclaw and a blushing Hufflepuff as he chased them from the shadowy corners and finally made a start on his homework.

He’d gotten back to the dorm room to find James still awake, playing chess with Peter on the latter’s bed, and - as was becoming increasingly common - the curtains to Sirius’ bed closed shut.

“Is he even in there?” Remus had grunted, nodding to the bed as he shucked off his cloak.

James nodded briefly. “I checked when I first came in. My bet is he’s having the world’s most concentrated wank.”

This last part was said loudly, no doubt to try and get a reply from Sirius, but there’s no sound from the bed in response. Remus has started to suspect that he’s begun to cast silencing wards around his bed so that he doesn’t have to hear any of them. 

“You all right, Moony?” Peter had asked, glancing up after his rook moved daringly across the board. “You look - flustered.”

“Full moon,” Remus said. “Keir’s got a lesson plan about it tomorrow, so you’ll have to skip a visit to the Shack.”

James looked up, wounded. “No! We were going to take you out to the Forest.”

The argument had persisted for a little while, James and Peter insisting that they could easily fake illness to avoid the lesson, and Remus pointing out that if both of them skip the lesson as well as him being ‘ill’ then it would only look suspicious to everyone else. Besides, Remus had told them, he’s not entirely sure about the plan to go to the Forbidden Forest - for one thing, although he didn’t say this aloud, none of them are certain if Sirius would be joining them, and Remus isn’t so sure that Prongs alone will be able to control the wolf.

Peter and James looked aggrieved but in the end it was settled. Remus would spend the first full moon since their completion of the Animagus transformations alone. 

That also is probably fodder as to why he’s in a bad mood from the off the next day. He’s tired from the late night, his bones already aching, and as he gets ready he glances involuntarily at Sirius’ bed, curtains now open but inside completely empty of its inhabitant, and it doesn’t improve things any.

It’s going to be a long day - and, he reminds himself darkly, an even longer night.

::

Sirius is next to him in Herbology and their hands brush as he passes him a watering can. They’re working on Biting Cabbages and Remus falters, glances at Sirius instead of concentrating on the vicious plant with teeth, and gets a tiny incisor to his index finger for this lapse.

“Shit,” he mutters, curling his other hand around his finger to stop the bleeding.

Sirius is frowning at him. “You all right?”

“Oh, just grand,” Remus says sarcastically. “Grab the cabbage, would you, it’s about to escape.”

“What? Oh - _Immobulus!_ ” 

The cabbage immediately stills on the desk, it’s attempt at a bid for freedom stopped. 

“That’s cheating,” Remus says. He pulls his wand out of his pocket and aims it at his finger, but he’s right-handed and it’s his right hand that’s injured, so his aim is completely off.

Sirius shrugs. “As if all these accomplished Herbologists don’t use magic to sedate these plants anyway. Bloody crackers, they are, if they don’t.”

“Maybe they enjoy the thrill,” Remus says.

Sirius notices he’s struggling with his wand and takes out his own. He points it at Remus’ bleeding finger and casts a minor healing spell with ease. The skin on Remus’ finger immediately starts to knit itself back together. Remus mutters a small thanks and Sirius just shrugs again, returning to the cabbage. It’s the most they’ve spoken in days, and then silence falls over them again, broken only by Sirius lifting the _immobulus_ on the cabbage. It doesn’t spring back to fighting-fit life, however, and the two of them stare down at it in confusion.

Professor Sprout marches towards them, frowning down at the immobile cabbage with great displeasure.

“Casting _Immobulus_ on a Biting Cabbage will - as I mentioned at the beginning of the lesson - of course kill it. Five points from Gryffindor for not paying attention to instructions.”

Remus can hear James and Peter sniggering behind them, but he’s in no mood to see the funny side. 

He packs up his things after the lesson, the joints in his shoulders creaking in displeasure as he hefts his bag up. Thankfully he doesn’t have far to walk as their next lesson is Care of Magical Creatures, but in a few short moments his mind is taken completely off of any pain he’s experiencing.

Care of Magical Creatures is still held with the Slytherins, and the Gryffindors arrive at the outdoor paddock early enough to catch the last lesson leaving. Unfortunately, the last lesson had been the Slytherin Fourth Years. Regulus Black is walking alongside Aegir Wilkes and Evan Rosier, and when he glances up and sees Sirius, Regulus gives a small nod of acknowledgment. This greeting, though small, is more friendly than any interaction that Remus has ever seen the Black brothers share between each other. James is watching Sirius, and Remus sees the small frown that James gives as Sirius gives his brother a fleeting smile.

Evan Rosier, however, is the one who jogs a few paces away from Regulus and Wilkes and comes to a stop in front of Sirius.

“Sirius!” he says, laying a hand on Sirius’ shoulder. 

The gesture, far too familiar and chummy, makes Sirius frown. He looks from Rosier’s hand on him, to Rosier’s grinning face, a look of cold indifference there that would make most sensible people back off, but Rosier, it seems, is an idiot.

“I just wanted to say how pleased I was to hear you’ve come to your senses at long last,” Rosier says. “I told my mother and of course she’s thrilled so just to let you know, no hard feelings, eh, and the Rosier’s are delighted to have you back in the fold.”

“Rosier,” Sirius says, his voice remarkably calm, although Remus can detect the mercurial glint in his eye. “Get your hands off me.”

Rosier chuckles. “All right, all right. Don’t forget though, we are family, and I thought you might want to know that not everyone is against you. There are those who of course think you have squandered your chances, but I think in this case the best thing to do is let bygones be bygones. After all, as I said to my father, it’s not as if you’re on Shafiq standards -”

Sirius’ fist connects with Rosier’s face at the same time that the Slytherin Fifth Years crest the hill. Remus has a second to curse the extremely bad timing, to think how much he hates Evan Rosier, and to wonder why fate hates them all so much as to unleash Sirius’ temper _now_ , after days of him being unreasonably calm, before he plunges a hand into his robe pockets for his wand. He aims it at Wilkes, who looks the type to do something stupid. James does the same, his wand pointing at Regulus, who hasn’t moved a muscle and has just been watching the whole display with an expression of blank nonchalance. 

“Black!” shouts Mulciber, storming down the hill. When he gets to the scene, he’s smirking like he’s enjoying every minute of this. “That’ll be ten points from Gryffindor, I think.”

Kettleburn chooses this moment to hobble out of the Forest and survey the scene. Rosier, lying on the floor, blood streaming from his nose, Sirius stood over him. James, wand aimed at Regulus; Remus, wand pointed at Wilkes; and Mulciber, stood tall with chest thrown out to accentuate his Prefect badge looking like the only do-gooder around.

“Mr Black,” Kettleburn barks. Regulus looks at him warily, and Kettleburn scoffs dismissively. “Sirius Black, I mean. Detention tonight. Lupin and Potter, put those wands away before you join him. Fourth Years, clear out, you’ve got lessons to be getting to - someone fix Rosier’s nose, it’s barely a scratch - and Fifth Years, come this way.”

With that, the professor turns and stumps off back into the trees. Sirius, chest heaving, follows after him, stepping on Rosier’s hand on the way. James pockets his wand, watching Regulus carefully the whole time, but Remus thinks that Regulus has never looked less likely to attack any of them. Instead the younger Black is staring after Sirius, an unreadable expression on his face, but if Remus were to guess, he’d say he looked disappointed.

James goes after Sirius at a jog. Peter exchanges a resigned sort of look with Remus and hurries after them both. Remus thinks his temper isn’t going to take much more but finds himself joining them regardless.

“You all right?” James asks Sirius.

Sirius grunts. “’M fine, James. Leave me alone.”

“Well I would,” James says archly, “except you keep on doing stupid things like getting into fist-fights. Why did you have to hit him?”

“Because sometimes casting a spell takes too long, because he’s a tit, because he deserved it…” Sirius counts off each reason on his fingers and then raises his eyebrows at James. “Want me to continue? Like you weren’t ready to hex my brother into oblivion. I saw you and Remus. You hate the tossers as much as I do.”

“I thought you didn’t hate them,” James says quietly.

Sirius throws him a sharp look but doesn’t say anything as Kettleburn begins talking. They’re still carrying on their lesson on Fwoopers, but Remus is finding it hard to concentrate on mating habits and migration. He keeps a wary eye on the Slytherins - wisely, Professor Kettleburn had divided the class into groups, and the Gryffindors and Slytherins are as far away as possible from each other, but Remus can still see Mulciber and Snape talking to each other, heads bent together, and after a moment Snape looks up and meets Remus’ gaze. His expression is cold, his lip curling, and Remus feels the wolf-anger pulsating in his veins at the mere sight of him. Remus gives himself a shake, turns back to Professor Kettleburn, and tries to ignore the feeling that he’d like to be the one inflicting damage on Slytherins today. 

At lunch, talk has spread.

“Is it true?” Marlene asks, plopping down into the empty space on the bench beside Sirius. Sirius looks at her blankly, and she says, eagerly, “Everyone is saying that you hit Evan Rosier in the face. Is it true?”

Sirius just grunts and nods. Marlene beams. 

To everyone’s surprise, Lily says, “I thought it was brilliant.”

James looks as though he can’t quite believe his ears. “You think Sirius hitting Rosier was a good idea?”

She shrugs, looking down at her mashed potato. “I think Rosier needs taking down a peg or two. Since when did you become such a pacifist, Potter?”

James gawps at her, looking as if he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing and also like all of his dreams are coming true.

For the rest of the day that’s pretty much all James talks about. After Arithmancy, in which Remus spent an excruciating hour trying to concentrate on the sums in front of him but failed miserably, Remus is curled up in his favourite chair, a book open uselessly on his lap, while James goes on and on about the virtues of one Lily Evans. From Peter’s expression, Remus can only assume he’s kept this up throughout Divination as well.

“And now that she approves of beating up Slytherins, we’re made for each other!” James finishes, a dreamy smile on his face.

“Earlier, you didn’t approve of beating up Slytherins,” Remus points out testily.

“I don’t approve of Sirius getting into fights without appropriate back-up,” James corrects him. “Where is he anyway?”

“Do you ever feel that that’s all we seem to be asking nowadays?” Peter mutters.

Remus privately agrees. He can’t concentrate on the textbook in front of him; he has a pounding headache and the words on the pages don’t seem to be making any sense to him, just jumbling and blurring before his eyes. He slams the book closed, the sound sudden in the uncharacteristic hush of the common room, and James and Peter look up at him in surprise.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. “I think I’m going to grab a bath in the Prefect bathrooms and see if I can relax any before I have to meet Madam Pomfrey. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

“You’ll see us later!” James says sternly. “We’ll be finished Astronomy by 10pm, we can make it to the Shack after that.”

Remus shakes his head. “I’ll have changed by then. It’s not as good when you appear afterwards. It’s better if you’re there from the start and then I don’t think it startles the wolf as much.”

“We can always -”

“No skipping class,” Remus says, not for the first time today.

James sighs. “Fine, fine. Enjoy your bath. I don’t see why Prefects get their own bathroom anyway,” he adds as an afterthought to Peter, as Remus gathers his things. “Seems all a bit elitist to me…”

Remus leaves them debating about what wonders the Prefect’s bathroom could hold. Truth be told the differences between the Prefect’s bathroom and the one in the dorms are numerous and - and he does acknowledge how pathetic this is - a good long soak in the bath is the first thing he’s looked forward to all day. At least in the Prefect’s bathroom he has perfect privacy, and he won’t have to worry about Peter stumbling in, or worse still, Sirius. Things have been strained enough between them, and the idea of Sirius walking in on him in the bath after the day he’s had is not as appealing as it once was.

Alone in the seclusion of the bathroom, Remus fills the large pool-size tub with water and turns the tap that shoots out a steady stream of minute chamomile scented bubbles until what must be hundreds of them float just above the water, leaving room for Remus to step in. He learned which taps do what quickly after becoming Prefect, and on full moon days and the days just after he does maximise their usefulness by turning on as many as he can with rumoured relaxing or healing qualities. Calming though it is to lie in a massive bath of warm water and scented bubbles, this is one indulgence that Remus is glad his friends aren’t privy to. It’s not exactly his most masculine past-time, and is decidedly at odds with the fact that in an hour he’ll be a near-full grown werewolf, throwing himself at the walls and taking his frustrations out on himself.

The moon tonight is going to be bad. It’s been a while since he’s had a transformation by himself and he doesn’t know how the wolf will react to being alone again. It likes the company, that much Remus is certain of, and he supposes he’ll know just how much the wolf misses it by how badly bruised and cut up he is in the morning.

It’s not the most comforting thought, and despite the bubbles and the quiet, Remus can never fully shake the feeling of apprehension that clings to him in the hours before the wolf takes hold. It’s like the wolf is in battle with himself, already raging to be let out. Remus sighs deeply and submerges himself in the bath, the water rushing over his head, sounds becoming muffled, nothing but the roaring in his ears as he sits cross-legged under the water, his eyes closed. It would be nice to just stay like this, but he knows that he needs to make his way to the Hospital Wing to meet Madam Pomfrey soon. 

Remus dries himself and gets dressed but leaves his hair wet. It doesn’t really matter, after all, what his hair looks like as in less than an hour he’ll be a completely different species anyway. With that not entirely comforting thought, he leaves the Prefect’s bathroom and walks into a scene in the hallway that makes him stop dead in surprise.

Sirius is outside the entrance to the bathroom, but he’s not alone. Facing him, wand in hand, is Mulciber. They’re almost nose-to-nose, Sirius with his hand clenched into a fist, and in almost comical unison they turn to face Remus as he appears.

Remus sighs. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Reckon he was trying to get a peek at you, Lupin,” Mulciber says with a nasty sneer. 

“Shut up, Mulciber,” Sirius says.

“I’m not the one out of bounds, Black. I’m a Prefect, on my way to use the Prefect’s bathroom. What excuse do you have to be skulking about if you weren’t trying to catch a look at Lupin, eh?”

“I said, shut up!”

“Or what, you’ll hit me like you did Rosier? Honestly, Black, he was trying to be friendly. I can see now any hope we had for you is sorely misplaced, getting into fights like a common Mudblood -”

“Do you have a death wish?” Remus snarls, lunging forward and seizing Sirius by the shoulders to stop him from jumping on Mulciber. “I’m out of the bathroom now. Go.”

Mulciber laughs but has the sense to realise that two on one are not the best odds, and he mutters the password to the bathroom. Only when he’s disappeared does Remus let go of Sirius.

“All right,” Remus says, folding his arms and raising his eyebrows at Sirius. “What were you doing?”

“James said you were here. Wanted to come find you.”

“And do a bit of Slytherin baiting on the way? It’s the full moon tonight, Sirius, I do not have time for whatever games you’re playing. You practically ignore me since term began and you think now is the best time to decide to talk to me again?”

“That’s why I wanted to find you,” Sirius says, managing to sound petulant, impatient, and apologetic all at the same time. Remus has to hand it to him - Sirius is certainly nothing if not complex. “I’ve got detention after Astronomy but I’ll be there after, probably around midnight.”

This sentiment, given a few days ago, would have made Remus’ heart leap. Now, under the weight of the stress of the day, anger at Sirius’ complete lack of self-control, and with the wolf just an hour away from being unleashed, Remus just wants to punch Sirius square in the face. 

Instead of doing this, he forces himself to breathe deeply. 

“Sirius, get out of my way. I need to get to the Hospital Wing.”

Sirius grabs his arm as he tries to move past, but Remus throws it off. Clearly startled, Sirius holds his hands up between them both. 

“Calm down, Moony.”

Remus rounds on him, the last of his patience snapping like a tension chord being cut. Out of all of the things that Sirius could have said, out of all of the apologies or explanations about his appalling behaviour, telling Remus to ‘calm down’ on the day of the full moon is not the best idea that Sirius has ever had. He seems to sense as much, as he takes a slight step away from Remus, his grey eyes wide and almost pleading, but Remus is in no mood to forgive Sirius or brush any of the last couple of weeks under the rug.

“Calm down? Are you kidding me? You disappear to London with no explanation, you turn up at the Potters and give some vague shit about needing to be with your family, you ignore everyone around you who is trying to help you - and now you act like a complete wanker and start getting into fights like you’re twelve-years-old again - and you decide to find me now, and tell me to calm down when I have been nothing but worried about you - after you told me that you liked me -”

“Remus, I -”

“Don’t,” Remus snaps. “Don’t bloody bother. Whatever it is you’re going through, I officially do not have time to care. Now get out of my way, Sirius.”

Mutely, head bowed, Sirius finally steps out of his way.

::

Sirius stares at the floor until the sounds of Remus’ quickened footsteps disappear, and it’s just him and the statue of Boris the Bewildered alone in the hallway. Sirius debates inwardly about waiting for Mulciber to emerge from the Prefects’ bathroom and finishing their altercation, but a voice in the back of his mind that sounds suspiciously like Remus is telling him what a spectacularly bad idea that would be. Instead, Sirius aims a swift kick at the base of the statue, earning only a sharp pain to his toe and a slight granite-like groan from Boris, before he takes the staircases up to Gryffindor Tower. 

_Stupid Remus_ , he thinks furiously as he skips the trick step and then is forced to wait as the staircases finish rearranging themselves. Anyone with any brains could see that Sirius was there as a friend, wanting to make things right between them - what was Remus’ problem? Yes, he’s been distant, but he’s going through something - _something none of them with their cosy little families could possibly understand_ , he thinks, the voice inside his head now decidedly his own.

He’s so distracted that he doesn’t look where he’s going properly and nearly falls over a lump on the floor just outside the entrance to the portrait hole. Flailing a hand out to stop himself from falling on his face, Sirius reaches out a hand to steady himself on the portrait - the Fat Lady squawks, “Excuse me, sir!” and he hurriedly straightens himself up, glaring down at whatever it is he’s just tripped over. 

Snape had been huddled on the floor and now jumps to his feet. He scowls deeply at Sirius, his hair falling lankly on either side of his scrawny little face, and Sirius notes with satisfaction that one of his usually pallid cheeks is bright red where it had connected with Sirius’ boot.

“Black, I would have thought you’d have better coordination,” Snape says, rubbing a hand over his face and wincing. “Don’t all nancy boy Purebloods have ballet lessons twice a week?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Sirius says loftily. “Your face was exactly what I was aiming for. Now, what are you doing up here? Your rat sewer is downstairs.”

“Very funny. It’s a free hallway, I can be here if I want.”

Sirius looks from the portrait to Snape and back again. The Fat Lady, when he catches her eye, merely shrugs, still looking ruffled that she’s been so recently manhandled. 

“Well, fine, if you want to lurk about the hallway like some loser that’s fine, but just piss off a moment while I go inside.”

Snape folds his arms across his chest, an infuriating smile on his lips. “I’m fine where I am, thank you.”

“I’m not saying the password with you right here!” Sirius says. He looks for help at the Fat Lady. “Can you just let me in please?”

“A password is required,” she says, her voice perfectly serene, although Sirius suspects she’s probably enjoying the payback.

“Oh for Merlin’s sake!” he explodes. “You know who I am! You’ve known me for five bloody years!”

“A password is required,” the Fat Lady repeats, lifting her nose into the air as if there’s a bad smell underneath. “I told _him_ as much.”

Sirius glares at Snape. “So you are trying to get in to the common room.”

There’s some triumph mixed in with his anger. _Here_ is a problem with an immediate fix. Snape is an aggravating little toad who needs to learn his place, and Sirius is only too happy to help him out in this moment. He cracks his knuckles and then stretches his arms up above his head as if in deep relaxation, rolling his shoulders. 

“What is it, Snivellus? Evans dump you again? Oh, wait - for that to happen you’d have to be dating in the first place, and everyone in this castle knows that she’d never go out with a snivelling, greasy, cowardly little bigot like you.”

“Don’t call me a coward,” Snape says, streaks of red appearing on his sallow cheeks.

“Really?” Sirius says in tones of mock surprise. “That’s the adjective you took offense at?”

Snape curls his spindly little hands into fists. Sirius notices and scoffs loudly.

“Think you can take me, Snivelly?”

“Maybe not in a physical fight,” Snape says quietly, “although we both know I could best you in a duel. I know spells you couldn’t dream of -”

“Ones your little Death Eater pals taught you? You make me sick. No wonder Evans got shot of you.”

“You know nothing about Lily and I.”

Sirius tilts his head to one side as if deeply considering this. A part of him is enjoying this, the thrill of antagonising Snape. For the moment at least all his worries about Remus have disappeared.

“Don’t I? I know she hates you, Snape, so if you’re hanging around to talk to her, you can forget it. You’re not going in that common room and you’re not getting near Evans.”

Snape’s jaw clenches. “Are you her bodygaurd now? Taken a shine to her, have you? Potter will be jealous - and Lupin too -”

“I think you’re the one who’s jealous, Snivellus,” Sirius says. “Your only friend has realised how vile you really are. My heart bleeds for you, it really does.”

Snape flicks his hair out of his face, jerkily, as if trying to shake off a fly. “I have other friends.” 

Sirius laughs, loud and dismissive. “My brother, you mean? Mulciber? Because my brother didn’t really mention you at all over the holidays which makes me think he’s realised what a useless little hanger-on you are.”

“Because you’re so close now,” Snape breathes, his nostrils flaring. “It’s pretty rich you talking about my friends. I’d worry more about your own. No one’s really seen you with your merry band of fools this term. Tired of you, have they?”

Sirius knows that he should rise above it, that Snape is just poking his large nose wherever he can to get a reaction. Remus would ignore him. Still, Snape’s comment strikes a nerve, and from the horrible little smile that appears on Snape’s face, he knows it. And once Snape has found where the it hurts, he’s not the type to leave it alone. 

“It’s a pity - the once great heir of the House of Black, too soft for Slytherin, unwanted by your family but rejected by your friends - too Dark for Gryffindor, really - it’s inside of you, your family, your blood. You don’t belong anywhere. The only place you could have been truly great is where you belong, and you’ve made your feelings pretty clear on that. The Gryffindors don’t want you, but you’re turning on the Slytherins. Tell me, where does that leave you, apart from alone?”

Sirius rockets forward, fist raised, and it’s only the Fat Lady’s ear-splitting shrieking that throws him off target. He manages to hold himself back at the last minute, his fist colliding instead with the wall next to the portrait, the loud thud and close proximity making Snape wince and screw his eyes closed as if Sirius’ fist had found it’s mark. The Fat Lady tuts, looking scandalised, glowering down at the two of them.

“Well, I never in all my life!” she says haughtily, and flounces out of the frame.

“You’re an idiot, Snape,” Sirius says lowly. “You never know when to keep your mouth zipped. There’s more to this life than school.”

“As you’re about to find out very soon,” Snape says, his dark eyes open again and darting side to side. 

He’s talking big but Sirius is willing to bet that Snape has worked out the same thing that has occurred to Sirius: Snape is all alone, in Gryffindor territory. Nevertheless, Sirius isn’t going to beat him up, however tempting it’s becoming by each passing second and every word that comes from his mouth. Sirius already has a detention tonight, and he really does want to go to the Shack afterward matter what Remus claims to want.

Sirius takes care to keep his voice quiet. He doesn’t want to risk someone inside the common room hearing them and coming to investigate and landing him in trouble. That’s the last thing he needs on his plate right now.

“You’re lucky that I have somewhere to be tonight, Snivellus, and that you’re not worth expending the effort on.”

He’s still leaning his weight against the wall, his outstretched arm blocking Snape from making an escape.

“I bet you do,” Snape says, his chest rising and falling heavily, but in the the next moment Sirius isn’t sure if it’s from fear or excitement. “Lovely night out for a stroll under the full moon, isn’t it?”

Snape ducks under Sirius’ arm and looks back at him, triumphant, his eyes glittering. Sirius feels the tendrils of fear clutching at him but he’ll be damned if he’s showing that to Snivellus.

“You’re touched in the head,” he scoffs. “Go on, piss off before I decide that I will kick your arse all the way up to that huge nose of yours.”

“Like you would,” Snape says, edging backwards, his eyes trained on Sirius. “Like you said, you’ve got somewhere to be tonight - an important date no doubt - and you can’t keep Loony Lupin waiting can you -”

“I changed my mind,” Sirius says flatly, “I am going to kick your arse.”

He takes a step forward, and sees, to his disgust, with a deep roiling in his stomach, that Snape looks almost gleeful.

“No you wont,” Snape says, his voice high pitched. “You won’t risk being predisposed tonight.”

“I wouldn’t get caught,” Sirius says, still strolling casually forward and Snape still edging backwards, his movements jerky and spider-like. Snape seems reluctant to actually turn his back on Sirius though and escape properly. _Good_ , Sirius thinks, _let him be afraid_. He can feel the blood pumping in his body, pounding in his ears. “And you wouldn’t tell anyone, Snape,” he says softly. “You’re too much of a coward.”

“I am not a coward!”

“No? You think you’re such a big man, Snape? Why don’t you go and poke your nose at The Whomping Willow, we’ll see how brave you are then.”

There’s a clang and a clatter of metal as Snape backs up as far as he can go, his back colliding with a suit of armor. Trapped, Snape looks at Sirius advancing towards him. Snape smiles a slow, sickening smirk, and next moment he’s got his wand out and yells, “ _Confringo!_ ”

The blasting curse does not hit its mark, but the sudden spell hitting the floor just to Sirius’ left is enough to distract him. Sirius jumps back and then, realising Snape’s plan, tries to grab for him through the plume of dark smoke, but Snape has already gone, fled down the staircase.

“Sly little bastard,” Sirius mutters, dusting down his robes. Then, straightening his school tie, Sirius decides to go to the kitchens and see if he can grab a bite to eat before he heads to Astronomy. He hopes they have some lemon meringue pie left, and he whistles as he descends the stairs, feeling cheered up already.


	74. consequences.

_Mid May 1976._

James stares at the empty frame where the Fat Lady usually resides, sighing. He’s been in the library and his bag is full of books, his shoulder getting sore. He’d like nothing better than to go to his dormitory, get rid of his bag, and have a quick rest before having to be alert for Astronomy. He’s always been a bit rubbish at the subject - he can never keep track of which planet is which, how many moons they each have, which one is meant to be going into retrograde tonight. He’s never had to memorise the constellations from a young age like Sirius, or be so potently, painfully aware of the cycles of the moon like Remus. All James knows with certainty is when the next full moon will be, the rest of it doesn’t interest him at all. Like tonight, for instance. He’d much rather be with Remus during the full moon than studying it, and wishes he could sack the whole thing off entirely. Although the way things are going, it looks like he’s going to be stuck outside the common room all night instead. He wonders if maybe he can use that as an excuse. After all, he can’t go to the lesson without his notes and diagrams and telescope - it’s not his fault that the Fat Lady has done a runner -

“Where’s she gone?” someone says, and James doesn’t have to turn to know that Evans is next to him. He can tell because by now he’s learned what shampoo she uses and what her hair smells like, and he knows that whenever the scent of peppermint is near him, Lily Evan is not far away.

“No idea,” he says, shrugging. “Looks like we might have to wait a while.”

“Oh sod that,” Lily says, surprising him. She’s been doing that a lot lately. She turns to the other nearest portrait, a wizard in a potions lab surrounded by bubbling poitions, he’s sat at a desk looking pompous. “Excuse me? Mr -” her eyes drop to the bronzed plaque below the portrait, “Sir Leopold? Do you happen to know where the Fat Lady has gone?”

“She’s not in her frame,” the wizard says.

“Yes, we know, and we’re locked out of our common room you see - did you notice which way she went?”

“Some scoundrels were having a brawl and she left. Quite right too.”

“A brawl?” James questions, moving to stand next to Lily. “Did you see what these, um, the scoundrels looked like?”

“It was the young Black boy,” a wood nymph in a nearby picture says, leaning forward out of her field she’s supposed to be frolicking in and giggling. “The handsome one.” In the background, behind some painted trees, more wood nymphs nod. James suppresses a snigger with the back of his hand, because Lily is looking far from amused. “And some other boy - he wasn’t as handsome - his nose was too big.”

“Sni - Snape, then,” James says flatly, catching himself and looking hastily at Lily.

Lily tuts. “You don’t know it was - “ she sighs. “Oh, all right, it probably was.”

“What was he doing up here in Gryffindor Tower?” James asks wonderingly, but Lily shoots him an arch look and comprehension dawns. “Ah. He been giving you grief?”

“No,” Lily says, crossing her arms. James takes that to mean yes.

He doesn’t push the subject. Instead he glances back at the empty frame of the portrait to their common room. He swings his arms by his side.

“So what do we do now? Do you happen to know a secret Prefect way to get in without the Fat Lady?”

“No. I suppose we go and find McGonagall and see if she can get us in somehow, or find the Fat Lady. I’ve heard she sometimes does this, goes into strops and doesn’t return. Easily startled, apparently. I’ll go to McGonagall’s office, and you go see if she’s in the Transfiguration classroom. Professor Keir will be annoyed if we both miss Astronomy.”

“Yeah, and I was planning on skipping it anyway,” James says casually. Lily glares at him and he shrugs. “Sorry. Just trying to have an honest dialogue with you, Evans.”

“I’m flattered,” she says dryly. “Now go on.”

She walks a little way down the hallway and James heads down to the Transfiguration classroom. He keeps his eyes on the portraits lining the walls as he goes, in case the Fat Lady is hiding in someone else’s picture. By memory he manages to jump over a disappearing step without looking, his eyes still searching the pictures for any signs of the Fat Lady, but James is not prepared to walk straight into someone coming up the stairs the opposite direction. He smacks into what feels like a brick wall but when he looks realises is in fact someone's chest. James is impressed as well as embarrassed - this person is nearly all muscle - but then he sees that it's not one person, but two people.

Gideon Prewett still has his earring but has a scar across his lip now as well to distinguish him from his twin brother. Gideon is the one that James walked into, the one with the frankly intimidating pectoral muscles, and he's looking down at James wryly, Fabian stood a couple of steps below and behind him.

"Hello. Potter, isn't it? Just a tip, sometimes it helps to actually look where you're going. I know us Gryffindor enjoy a challenge but frankly falling and breaking your neck on these stairs is not nearly as impressive when you're dead."

"Sorry!" James says, feeling off guard and flustered suddenly. "And yes. Potter. James Potter. You taught us in Third Year. Are you back to teach?" 

Fabian gives a grim sort of smile. "Sadly not. We were just on our way to McGonagall’s office. Professor McGonagall, I should say."

James has a million questions. The Prewett twins seem to expect this, and start speaking again before James can open his mouth.

"We're helping with careers training," Gideon explains. 

James looks between the two of them. "Those were a couple of weeks ago," he says, frowning.

Fabian nudges Gideon in the back. It must be a hard poke because Gideon grimaces and then manages to turn it into a smile, although James doesn't miss how he treads on his brothers foot.

"Of course. There were a few students who showed promise in - dark magic defence. Like Auror training. We're here to help those students with Professor McGonagall."

"You told us in Third Year that you weren't Aurors-"

"Isn’t curiosity and questioning a Ravenclaw trait?" Gideon grumbles. "Please don't let us interrupt whatever you were doing, you looked like a man on a mission."

Gideon makes a grand sweeping bow, gesturing his arm out to let James pass. 

“I was on my way to find McGonagall as well,” James says. “The Fat Lady ran off and locked us out.”

“Ah, she does that sometimes,” Fabian says mournfully. 

Gideon’s lips quirk. “Well, there was that time in Fourth Year when you dropped those dung bombs in front of the common room and she left because of the smell.”

“I wasn’t even aware that portraits had a sense of smell!” Fabian says, looking genuinely shocked. “In fact I still maintain that they don’t and she’s just a drama queen. I think she was just mad at you because you snuck out with Henrietta Talbot and woke the Fat Lady up at three o’clock in the morning.”

“Nevertheless,” Gideon says loudly, managing to look dignified even while his brother smirks at him at the memory. He turns his attention back to James. “Whatever the reason, I’m afraid you’re locked out for good until she decides to come back. Professor McGonagall won’t be able to help you, so I’m afraid there’s really nothing to do but wait.”

They go to move on back up the staircase and James turns around as well to follow.

“Great, I’ll just come back up with you then,” he says eagerly.

Fabian’s grin fades. He and his brother exchange a look, and Gideon says, “By ‘wait’ we mean ‘go knock about in the forbidden hallways’ or ‘go to the kitchens and steal some food’.”

“Or even,” Gideon puts in, with a warning look at Fabian, “Merlin forbid, go to the library and study. It’s O.W.L year for you lot isn’t it?”

“Oh, I’ve just come from the library,” James says, shaking his bag for emphasis.

“Like we said,” Fabian continues, speaking over him, “we have to find Professor McGonagall. And if she’s still the same professor I remember then she’ll probably Transfigure us both into newts for being already so abysmally late for our appointment.”

Gideon nods to him. “So it was lovely for the catch up -”

“Glad to see you’re growing up well -”

“It’s probably for the best if you don’t hang about in forbidden places or nick food, or if you do, leave our names out of it. Nice to see you, Potter.”

James recognises the dismissal but hesitates, looking between the two brothers uncertainly. They both smile at him, perfectly pleasant but now with a distinct air of two people wanting to be well shot of him, and in the end James admits defeat and passes them. His Invisibility Cloak is in his school bag and he’s practically itching to throw it on, double back, and find out what they’re really here at Hogwarts for, but he has a strong feeling that Gideon and Fabian have probably tried to put as much distance between themselves and him by now and most likely are both already in McGonagall’s office. 

Once at the bottom of the stairs, James realises he has nothing to do except go back up them and attempt to return to Gryffindor Tower. At the very least he’ll have an excuse to hang around Lily Evans while they both wait for the Fat Lady to come back. Spirits lifted, James heads back up the stairs. As suspected, when he gets back to the hallway outside Gryffindor Tower, the Prewetts are long gone. Lily is back though, sat on the floor with her back to the wall. James takes a seat beside her, stretching his legs out.

“You’ll never guess who I just -” he begins.

“The Prewett twins,” Lily says dully. James scowls, his exciting news stolen, and she shrugs apologetically. “I saw them as I was leaving McGonagall’s office. She told me that there’s nothing to do but wait until she comes back.”

“It’s ridiculous,” James says. “That we’re forced to wait outside like - like animals.”

“We are inside a castle, Potter,” Lily points out. “It’s not like we’ve been left to the elements.”

“Well, yes, true, but we’re locked out of our quarters,” he says earnestly. “Our - our home is in there, and our - our books. That we need for, uh, learning and studying and revising for exams. Our Astronomy notes are in there! We could be late for Astronomy class and miss vital information.”

“You told me you were going to skip Astronomy,” Evans reminds him.

“Well that’s besides the point,” James says stubbornly. 

Evans glances sideways at him. “Are you trying to pretend that you’re upset about being denied the opportunity to get your class notes because you think your dedication to studying will impress me?”

“Dunno,” James says evasively. “Is it working?”

Evans snorts. “Dream on, Potter. You’d have to - oh! You’re back!”

The Fat Lady has reappeared, her cheeks rosy and hiccuping every so often. James wrinkles his nose.

“Did you go for a drink?” he asks.

The Fat Lady laughs, swaying slightly from side to side. Wherever she’s been, it’s certainly put her in a good mood. “Password?” she asks, staring down at them serenely, or as serene as someone can look with their eyes nearly crossed.

“Wait a minute, Evans was just about to tell me what I’d have to do to impress her,” James says.

Evans, rolling her eyes, addresses the portrait. “ _Mackled Malaclaw_.”

“I reckon she was sozzled when she thought that one up as well,” James mutters.

Evans is already halfway through the portrait hole.

“Come on, Potter, we’ve got twenty minutes before Astronomy. Or has your dedication to your learning faded already?”

James climbs in after her, the Fat Lady’s hiccups echoing behind him.

::

He doesn’t see Sirius until just before class. The rest of the students have already ascended the stone steps leading up to the Astronomy Tower and James is lingering about at the foot of the staircase, still in half a mind about skipping the lesson altogether and wondering if Sirius really has, when he appears, his robe sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a serene smile on his face, and smelling oddly like lemons.

“You’re cutting it a bit fine,” James remarks.

“I didn’t know you were so invested in time-keeping.”

“He’s big on learning now,” Peter says sagely. “He thinks it’ll help with Evans.”

“Shut up, Pete.”

Peter flips them both off and starts to walk up the staircase but James reaches out and pulls him back by the straps of his school bag. He wants Peter here for this.

“Well, you’re in a better mood,” James says to Sirius. “Last I heard you were in a fight with Snape.”

“Who told you that?” Sirius asks, his expression turning sour.

“Some portrait,” James says with a shrug.

Sirius sighs. “Bloody portraits. How’d you know it was Snape?”

“I got told it was you and someone with a large nose - I put two and two together. I study now, you know.”

“So I’ve heard,” Sirius grumbles. “And yes, I had a bit of a go at Snape. He was hanging around outside the common room so I told him to get lost, that’s not a crime right?”

“It certainly seems to have put you in a better mood!” James says. “This is the most you’ve spoken to us all term.”

“Well it’s enough to put anyone in a jolly mood, isn’t it, a bit of Snivellus-beating.”

“Did you actually beat him up?” Pete says worriedly. “Because you’re already in detention tonight -”

“Nah, I didn’t touch him,” Sirius says and James lets relief flood over him. Then, Sirius grins, that maniacal grin that usually spells nothing but trouble. “The Willow’ll hopefully do enough damage to him when he tries to touch it, the nosy git -”

Sirius chortles, goes to walk up the stairs, but James swings him back around by the arm.

“Wait a minute. What did you say?”

“Oh, Prongs, it was nothing,” Sirius says, frowning. “Why is your face doing that?”

James is well aware that his mouth has just dropped open and he’s staring at Sirius like a fish that’s just been dragged out of water.

Sirius carries on, “Snape was being a prat, you know how he is. He was after Evans - _your_ Evans, might I add, so you’re welcome, I was saving her - and then he started making remarks about my family and about Remus -”

James finds his voice at last. His grip on Sirius’ arm tightens.

“Sirius. What. About. Remus.”

“Oh - just insinuating stuff - about moonlit strolls, you know how he’s been harping on lately with his suspicions. Well, his suspicions are going to get him in trouble tonight!”

“I’ll say!” James explodes in a yell. It echoes off of the stone walls around them, making Peter jump and Sirius frown. “Sirius, you sent him to Moony?”

“No,” Sirius says slowly. “I sent him to get beat up by the Whomping Willow. James, relax. I think I’ve said this all wrong, it’s not like I told him about Remus, I didn’t confirm anything -”

“I agree you’ve said it all wrong, you great big twat!” James shouts. “Sirius, how could you be so stupid?”

“Hey now,” Sirius says sharply. “You’re always tormenting Snape.”

“Snape - yes! But Sirius - think, for fucks sake! You’ve given him directions to where Remus is now, any moment about to turn into what Snape already suspects him of being - and you’ve bloody well given him directions to find him!”

“He won’t get in,” Sirius says shortly. “He’ll get his limbs broken, hopefully his head taken off, maybe at least it’ll rearannge his nose for him -”

“THIS ISN’T A JOKE!” 

The silence after James’ explosion is suffocating. He and Sirius stare at each other for a long time, and after a while James sees Sirius’ expression turn from one of uncomprehending bafflement and confusion, into one of uncertainty. He frowns, opens his mouth, but can’t seem to think of what to say. James doesn’t trust himself to speak without yelling any more. In the end it’s Peter that breaks the silence.

“Sirius, this is really bad.”

Sirius rounds on him. “Is anyone asking you?”

“Hey,” Peter says, scowling, and James snaps, “Oh leave him alone Sirius, he’s right - now come on.”

Before he can formulate a plan he’s moving, his legs going faster than his brain. He needs to think, he needs time to stop and actually get a plan together, except there is no time. He hurtles down one flight of stairs without really any conscious thought behind it; he just knows he has to get to the Willow.

“When did this happen?” he shouts over his shoulder as he runs.

Sirius and Peter are running behind him. He can hear Peter panting and falling more and more behind but James doesn’t slow down. He can’t slow down. 

Sirius catches up with James and says as they run, “I don’t know, an hour maybe?”

His heart plummeting as he assesses the time frame, James puts on another burst of speed. _Get to the Willow. Get Snape. Don’t let him get to Remus._ That’s all that matters. As long as Snape doesn’t get to the Shack, as long as he doesn’t encounter the wolf -

“Shit shit shit,” James says through gritted teeth. 

It helps, oddly enough, to have some sort of mantra to say, even if it is just a string of swear words repeated over and over. It keeps him grounded somehow, focused, as he sprints down one final staircase and into the Entrance Hall. He never really stopped before to comprehend just how many staircases Hogwarts has, until now he feels like he’s just raced down all of them. He can feel a stitch starting to burn in his side and Peter is nowhere to be seen now but Sirius is still with him. Chest heaving, trying to catch his breath, Sirius leans against the nearest wall, bent over, hands on his knees.

“Right, lets just - stop for a moment. We need to think of what do to.”

“I know what I have to do,” James says grimly. 

Sirius looks at him, eyes wide. “You’re not going after the little git?”

“Yes, I bloody well am!” James yells, wheeling on his best friend with all the anger that he can muster, although right now it’s fear he predominately feels coursing through his body. At least being so furious at Sirius that he can hardly think straight is forcing him to think of something except the mind numbing panic. “You’ve sent Snape to find Moony. How do you think this is going to end? Snivellus could get killed, and not that I’d be complaining if the little shit died, but if Moony gets in trouble for this - Sirius, what do you think they’ll do to him?”

Sirius is very pale. For once he doesn’t have an answer. He just bows his head, drops his gaze back down to the stone floor.

“I’m sorry,” Sirius says quietly.

“It’s a bit late for that now,” James snaps.

Sirius winces. James knows he sounds harsh but the very last thing that James has time to deal with right now is Sirius Black’s guilt. It won’t help to mope, because whatever is done is done and they’ll have to deal with the consequences soon enough, but for now, James has to get to the Willow.

“Are you coming?” he says impatiently to Sirius.

Sirius doesn’t move from his spot by the wall, doesn’t even react. It’s as if he didn’t even hear James and he stays staring down at the floor.

“Fine,” James says, and steps out into the grounds himself.

It’s a cold nigh, the sky clear and the full moon high and taunting in the sky. James runs until The Whomping Willow comes into view, twisting in the dusky twilight, a near silhouette of branches on the horizon. James pauses on the crest of a hill to see if he can make out if the tree looks as if it’s very recently been immobilised but he can’t tell; the Willow looks just as active as ever, and James has no Wormtail to poke the knot. James glances over his shoulder but there’s no sign of either of his friends emerging from the castle and James doesn’t have any time to lose waiting for them to possibly show up. 

He runs down the hill at a steady jog. Closer up, James can tell that the Willow seems agitated and he squints through the gloaming to see that some of its low hanging branches look bent. The bottom seems to have dropped out of his stomach, and all he can feel is a hollow, icy feeling enveloping him as he stares, horror-struck, at the tree.

“Shit,” James says again, for good measure, and then grabs a stick from the floor. 

He’s always been rubbish at this, before they had Wormtail to do the honours, and James has had just as many, if not worse, beatings up from this tree than he has by any Quidditch game or werewolf. A part of him hopes that maybe Snape tried to get close, got his arse thoroughly kicked, and gave up in defeat, but the bigger part of him, the one consumed with dread, knows that that’s not the case.

He jabs at the tree, once, twice, ducks a branch and rolls to the side. Quidditch practice at least has some transferable skills, he thinks grimly, as he’s forced to duck his face practically into a pile of mud to avoid being lanced by a branch. As the branches swing over his head, he jumps to his feet and makes another desperate lunge at the knot in the middle of the trunk. He misses and staggers backwards as the Willow comes back his way; James jerks his head back but he’s too slow and he feels a sharp slice to his cheek; his glasses wobble dangerously on his face but thankfully they stay on. He definitely doesn’t fancy taking this thing on without being able to see properly.

The tree rears back, the branches creaking, groaning, the whole trunk looking as if it’s going to uproot. Everything is a dark mass of tangled vines, and James’ hair is whipped away from his face in the turbulence made by the thrashing branches flying over his head.

“Come on then, come get me!” he taunts, taking another step backwards, the branches straining towards him again and again.

He jumps to the side and sees his chance as the tree swings for him, this time concentrating all of its branches on him, leaving the main trunk of the tree exposed. His heart pounding in his throat, James throws the stick with all his might in the direction of the branches; it hits the Willow’s leaves and becomes tangled. The Willow is distracted for just a second as it shreds the stick but a second is enough. James hurls his whole body at the base of the tree. For all of his Chaser moves it’s not a very composed lunge, and his head hits the trunk with a dull thud, but his hands fall on the knot.

The Willow stills instantly. Something - James is pretty sure that it’s blood - is trickling down his forehead but he doesn’t have time to waste. He wipes the sleeve of his robe hurriedly across his head and then clambers down into the tunnel beneath the tree.

It’s dark inside and a cloying, earthy smell assaults him as soon as he finds his feet, making him cough. He’s been in this tunnel countless times but now more than ever he’s struck with how dank it is, how dark, how obviously trapped he is. Usually this tunnel is full of laughter from his friends and doesn’t seem so depressing, but right now James is aware of every root sticking out from the roof and sides of the tunnel, catching and snagging at his hair and clothes, and how very cold it is down here.

“Snape?” he calls into the gloom but there is no reply.

He casts lumos and aims his wand ahead of him; the thin beam of light illuminates only mud, rocks and earth, and there’s no sign of Snape. James isn’t sure if it’s his imagination or if he actually can hear footsteps ahead of him. James speeds up to a jog as the tunnel stretches out and curves around a corner.

“Snape, where are you?” James calls, but the only answer is some dirt falling from the wall around him.

James can feel bile in the back of his throat; he tries very hard not to imagine the various scenes that could await him at the end of this. He finally comes out at the other end of the curve of the wall and sees another beam of light ahead; raising his wand quickly, his own light falls on the unmistakable sight of Snape’s foot and the bottom of his robes just about to whip out of sight as he climbs the ladder to the Shrieking Shack.

“Snape, no!” James bellows, charging ahead at full speed. 

His wand clutched in his sweaty palm, he is no longer able to point it straight ahead as he runs. The light bounces in jerky motions off of the earth-caked walls and James can’t really see what the hell is going on except he thinks that Snape has hesitated and that’s all the encouragement James needs. He throws himself forward, reaching out for the other boy, and to his horror he sees that Snape has made it to the top of the ladder, that he has one hand on the trap door and is pushing it open from underneath.

“NO!” 

He grasps Snape by the hem of his robes and pulls with all his might. Just before the weight of the other boy falls on top of him, James is aware of a horrifying, blood-curdling howl and then an almighty crash as the werewolf throws itself at Snape. Pulled back by James, Snape lets the trap door drop back into place and the whole ladder shakes as the werewolf crashes into the door above them. Snape lands on top of James on the ground, his spindly limbs flailing, his whole body thrashing. James grips on tight to whatever he can find. He has Snape in some sort of headlock as they roll around on the ground, Snape still trying to get free.

“Stay still, you lunatic!” James shouts, or tries to. His words are muffled by Snape’s hair in his mouth and somewhere in the back of his mind he realises that he’s never been this close to Snape before and now he’s got his _hair_ on his _tongue_. 

This whole night is just awful.

“I knew it!” Snape screeches, puling free of James at last, wiggling out of James’ grasp and scuttling away to stand with his back against the tunnel wall. His breathing is ragged, his face streaked in dirt. In the gloom of the tunnel James can see the whites of his eyes illuminated by their wandlight. “That’s Lupin, isn’t it? Isn’t it? I knew he was a freak, I knew you were all hiding something -”

James has had enough. He shoves Snape, hard, on both shoulders so that he hits the tunnel wall. Above them James can still hear the werewolf thrashing and snarling. Snape swings a punch at James but his aim is terrible, James easily ducks out of the way and then grips Snape by the arm. He needs to get them both out of this tunnel.

“Shut up. If there’s one thing I’ve learned tonight it’s that you know absolutely nothing.”

Snape jerks his arm frantically to free himself but James is bigger and stronger and manages to drag Snape to the tunnel exit. James sticks an arm out, hits the knot, and the Willow ceases it’s thrashing once more so at least James is able to pull Snape out of the tunnel without having to deal with the tree attacking them as well.

Once they’re out of the dark of the tunnel and bathed in moonlight, James can see that Snape has a deep gash across the bridge of his nose, the shoulders of his robes are torn, and he has a black eye forming. He thinks how desperate Snape must have been to find out the truth, imagines him trying to get at the knot again and again, not giving up, and he feels the urge to hit him all over again. 

In the distance James spots a lonely looking figure. It’s Sirius, although the closer they get, cresting the hill, James realises he’s not actually alone at all. Pete stood a little way behind him, keeping his distance from Sirius. His round face is gleaming with sweat but he breaks into a smile when he sees James.

“I knew you’d get to him!” he says.

James tries to smile in return but it’s difficult. He doesn’t feel like he’s done anything to smile at.

And then, next to Peter, is Dumbledore. He’s wearing crisp turquoise robes looking very at odds with his sombre expression. James completely ignores Sirius, who is stood rigidly with his eyes downcast, and goes straight to the Headmaster.

“Professor, please, I can -”

Dumbledore holds up a hand. 

“Mr Potter, I think it best in the circumstances to have this discussion in my office.”

James nods, swallowing nervously, and Dumbledore inclines his head at Peter.

“Mr Pettigrew, thank you for your assistance tonight. Now you may get off to bed.” Peter looks relieved to be dismissed, and shoots James another fleeting smile before turning back to the castle. Dumbledore then looks to Snape. “Mr Snape, if you would please go inside the castle. Professor Slughorn is waiting for you in the entrance hall and we will talk later.”

“You’re going to listen to them first?” Snape says shrilly. He jabs a shaking finger at Sirius. “He tried to have me killed, Professor, by that _thing_.”

“Mr Snape, I assure you I will listen to both sides of this story. however I am sure you will agree that it has been a long night and the best way to get this over with in an orderly fashion is to hear the tale without interruptions from either party. I am sure you understand that given the high emotions involved it will be best and more efficient to hear these accounts separately.”

Snape glares at the headmaster. James can see him trembling, but he does nothing more than glare and then stomp off to the castle.

“Mr Black. Mr Potter. Follow me.”

Dumbledore turns and sweeps up the grounds. Without looking at each other, James and Sirius follow.

::

James and Sirius have been in Dumbledore’s office together plenty of times before, and although James can’t even remember all those times and for what misdemeanors they will have been for, he knows that it’s never felt like this before. Usually shooting each other furtive hidden grins and looks as they sit side by side on the two chairs placed in front of the Headmaster’s desk, Sirius is normally tipping his back on two legs and James is usually trying not to laugh as they both get reprimanded. Sometimes even Dumbledore has a definite twinkle in his eye that makes it difficult for either James or Sirius to keep a straight face.

At this moment, there is no sign of a twinkle and James has never felt anything has been less funny in his entire life. His stomach is still twisted into knots - or rather, one large knot that seems to have taken over everything else. Now that the adrenaline of getting to Snape has worn off, James just feels exhausted - exhausted, and worried beyond control. Before now, whenever he’s been in this office, he’s always felt fairly confident at the outcome. Points being docked, detentions - none of that bothered him in the long run. The occasional owl home to his family may have made him groan, but only because he would never hear the end of it from his mum and dad at the next holiday and his mum would have him doing chores for the rest of the break depending on the severity of what he’d done. Now, though, looking at Dumbledore regarding them both seriously over his glasses, James is well and truly worried about the consequences of what has happened tonight.

And then of course there’s the anger, which has found it’s way back into James’ bloodstream and is now there humming beneath his skin. James can barely bring himself to look at Sirius. Sirius is next to him, his hands in his lap, his head bowed, and all four legs of his chair firmly on the floor. It’s the most still that James has seen him in this office, although James imagines that he himself must make a pretty sombre looking picture as well. 

The large circular office is full of interesting objects and trinkets to catch and keep James’ attention. He usually enjoys looking at all of the pictures of the previous headmasters and headmistresses that line the wall behind Dumbledore’s desk but tonight he finds that they look particularly solemn and even accusing. When they had trooped in minutes before one portly wizard had nudged Professor Dippett awake. There is a peculiar looking clock that is ticking rather fast but apart from that the room is silent; even the portraits seem to be holding their breath.

Eventually Professor Dumbledore clears his throat.

“Well, gentlemen, why don’t we start this from the best place - the beginning?”

He looks appraisingly at Sirius but Sirius, still looking firmly down at his lap, doesn’t reply. 

Dumbledore turns to look enquiringly at James instead, and James pauses to throw Sirius a dark look - after everything he’s done tonight, Sirius is sill leaving him to do all the explaining - before he launches into it all.

“I only know a bit of it, sir - I was coming back from class but couldn’t get into the common room and when I asked some of the portraits they told me that they had seen Sirius and Sni - Snape - having a bit of a row.”

He’s aware from the corner of his vision of Sirius finally looking at him but James doesn’t care if he feels betrayed or not. If Sirius wants to talk violations of trust, he can be the one to talk to Moony first thing in the morning. With another pang in his stomach, James continues.

“The Fat Lady came back and I didn’t think much of it really, sir - you know that Snape and Sirius are always getting into it -”

“Oh, like you’re not -” Sirius starts.

“Shut up, Sirius,” James hisses.

“Gentlemen,” Dumbledore says, holding up a hand and breaking the argument up before it can begin. “If we are to get through all versions of this story, we must not have interruptions, is that clear? Everyone is to have a chance to tell their side.”

Sirius shifts on his chair. “Even Snape?” he mutters.

Dumbledore’s eyebrows raise, ever so slightly. “Of course, Mr Black.”

“He’ll lie,” Sirius says. “He’ll make it sound - I dunno, worse than it was. You heard him. He said I tried to get him killed!”

Professor Dumbledore steeples his fingers together and rests his chin on top. “Then why don’t you tell me, Mr Black, in your own words, exactly what your intentions were.”

Sirius sighs heavily. “I just - right, so, yeah, James is right, I got into a fight with Snape. I called him some names, but he did the same! He was being a right tw - awful,” Sirius amends quickly. “He was being awful. Saying things about Remus, as if he knew that Remus is a werewolf - and it just got under my skin, it just wound me up so much.”

“You should have ignored him!” James burst out, unable not to. “Like we always do when he says that stuff - he’s been saying it for months -”

“Has he now?” Professor Dumbledore murmurs. “Then why, boys, was it not brought to my attention that Mr Lupin’s safety had possibly been compromised?”

Now James and Sirius do look at each other. James can see his own discomfort mirrored in Sirius’ face.

“It was vague things, sir,” James says. “He’s never said the word ‘werewolf’. It’s just been comments about his disappearances and being ill all the time an wondering where we - I mean - where he goes every month.”

“I see.” Dumbledore nods. “But still, as Mr Lupin is under my care whilst at school, I would have preferred to know.” James feels his face flush but Dumbledore isn’t looking at him anymore; he nods in Sirius’ direction. “Please continue, Mr Black.”

“I only told Snape that if he thought he was so big, he should go and hit the trunk of the Willow,” Sirius says, still sounding sulky. “I didn’t tell him what was down there. I didn’t mention Remus. I just wanted him to shut up.”

“It sounds to me,” Dumbledore says quietly, “that you wanted Mr Snape to be gravely injured.” Again he holds up a hand to stem any objections, as Sirius has opened his mouth to argue but then falls silent at once. “The Whomping Willow is an extremely dangerous tree, Mr Black. I do not need to remind you of the unfortunate incident with Mr Gudgeon last year. I made it very clear to all students after that that nobody is permitted near The Whomping Willow and it is out of bounds. Therefore I cannot fathom any other reason why you would expressly instruct Mr Snape to go near it - and furthermore, not only did you endanger him by goading him into it - but you told him how to deactivate it, endangering him further. You must have known, from your admission that Mr Snape has been curious about Mr Lupin for some time now, that this would pique his curiosity and, if successful, he would see the entrance to The Shrieking Shack and go down there.”

All the time that Dumbledore has been speaking, his tone has remained level, even calm, and although he never raises his voice his tone is heavy and his eyes never waver from Sirius. Sirius is staring back at him, but his cheeks are flushed and his mouth a tight line. James has seen that look before; it’s the rare look that Sirius gets when he knows that he’s been beat, when he knows that he cannot argue with what’s being said. Hearing it all laid out like that, James feels suddenly cold as the realisation of Sirius’ actions sink in. 

“What’s going to happen to Remus, sir?” James asks, his throat dry and his voice cracking sightly.

“I will speak to Mr Snape,” Dumbledore says, shifting his gaze to James. Sirius slumps in his seat as if Dumbledore looking at him had been holding him at wand-point and now he’s finally free. “I take the safety of my students extremely seriously, Mr Potter. Although Mr Snape’s trauma tonight has been more physical, thankfully there is no lasting damage - thanks to you and your quick acting. Mr Lupin’s, however, may be more long lasting if Mr Snape were to tell of what has happened tonight, so rest assured I will ensure that Mr Snape understands the importance of the matter now that he knows of the secret as well.”

The idea of sharing a secret with Snape - and especially one as important as this - makes James’ skin crawl, and he’s doubtful of even Dumbledore’s powers of shutting Snape up. Powerful though he undoubtedly is, even Professor Dumbledore’s sway and influence may pale under the weight of the Hogwarts rumour and gossip mill. Despite this, James knows that this is the best solution to a truly awful problem, and so he nods. 

“Speaking of your actions tonight, Mr Potter,” Dumbledore continues, “I want to commend you for your bravery, and award Gryffindor thirty points.”

James nods, but does not feel cheered at all by this. He knows that Sirius is going to lose them probably three times that amount if not more. 

“And now, Mr Potter, I want you to return to Gryffindor Tower and go straight to bed please. Tell Mr Pettigrew the same, as if I am right in my guessing, he is probably somewhere nearby waiting for you both.”

James rises from his chair. “Yes, sir. Thank you.” 

He looks down at Sirius and then back up at Dumbledore, but Dumbledore merely smiles as if they have just finished a pleasant chat and James knows that he has to leave without him. He forces himself to leave the office at a normal pace but as soon as the wooden double doors close behind him, he sprints down the spiral staircase. Dumbledore had been right about something - at the entrance to the Headmaster’s office, scurrying under the bottom of a tapestry that is brushing the floor, is a rat. James glances around to make sure they’re alone, bends down and holds out his arm so that Wormtail can run up. Perching on his shoulder, the rat chitters in his ear and scratches at the arm of his glasses.

“Stop that,” James says. “I’ll tell you everything in a moment.”

Back in the common room, James collapses on his bed, his arms spread wide. Peter has changed back and emerges from his own four-poster just as he is pulling his pyjama top on. 

“So, go on, tell me everything,” Peter says, moving to sit on James’ bed and sitting on James’ hand in the process. “Is Moony okay? I thought about going down there myself - but then I didn’t think I’d be as much good on my own, so I didn’t know what else to do. I went down to the dungeons, though, and Snape is still with Slughorn. He’s got a face like thunder and neither of them are saying a word to each other. I’m not even sure if Slughorn knows what’s going on, he just kept on pouring himself another glass of sherry.”

“Remus will be okay, I think,” James says. He takes his glasses off and flings them down on his bedside table with a clatter. He wants desperately to go to sleep but knows that Peter wants answers. James forces himself to sit up; if he were in Peter’s position, he’d want to know what in Merlin’s name was going on a well. Propping himself up against his headboard, James takes a deep breath and continues, “Dumbledore is going to keep Snape quiet. There’s not much we can do but wait, I guess.”

“I can’t believe you just went after him like that,” Peter says admiringly.

James shrugs. He doesn’t feel that there’s anything particularly brave about what he’s done tonight. One of his best friends’ biggest secret is threatened to be exposed, and his other best friend is in who knows what sort of trouble. It doesn’t feel heroic or like he succeeded in anything; he mostly just feels scared.

“It wasn’t anything,” James mumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose and trying to suppress a yawn at the same time. 

“What’s going to happen to Sirius?” Peter asks.

James is silent, thinking this over. He’s not quite sure where to begin answering that one. Of all of the stupid stunts and pranks they’ve pulled over the years, this one is by far the most idiotic, dangerous thing Sirius has ever done. James still can’t quite believe that his best friend has done this, can’t reason out his thought process at all - the only thing that James keeps coming back to is that Sirius hadn’t been thinking at all, but that is far from a comfort and not much of an excuse for what he’s done. Sirius is careless, yes, and James knows there’s a cruel streak there that other people occasionally get the brunt of - James just never thought in a million years that Sirius would be that reckless when it came to Remus.

“I don’t know, Pete,” he says at last. “I really don’t know.” Peter looks at him, his blue eyes large in his face, and James tries to give him an encouraging smile. “Come on, let’s get some kip, eh? We’ll get up early and go wait for Moony like we used to. Things will be clearer in the morning.”

“Yeah,” Peter says, nodding. “Yeah, of course they will be.”

If either boy knows that they are lying to themselves and each other, they don’t mention it.


	75. morning after the night before.

_Mid May 1976._

Remus wakes up to searing pain all over his body. He’s face down on the floor of The Shrieking Shack and he lifts his head, which feels impossibly heavy, as a coughing fit assaults him. Trying to clear his throat of dust, Remus rolls over and sits up, his chest heaving as he attempts to get his breathing under control. Eventually the coughing subsides and Remus can focus on his surroundings - there’s no sign of James, Peter, or Sirius in the room. So they hadn’t come after all. 

He cups his forehead in his hand as flashes of the moments before his transformation rush through his mind. He remembers the fight between Sirius and Mulciber, and his own argument with Sirius, and yet there had been a part of Remus that had really thought that Sirius would come and be with him regardless. It’s been the first full moon since Sirius returned to school in his weird changeable moods, and his absence tells Remus everything he needs to know, answers all of his questions about how Sirius really feels. James and Peter not being here stings as well, but Remus tries to put it out of his mind as he gingerly reaches for his clothes. The wolf had been angry last night, Remus realises, as he observes the chair broken into three separate pieces, sharp wooden splintered poles jutting up from the breakage. His clothes have been flung every which way and as Remus holds up his jumper, his sees it’s really what’s _left_ of his jumper.

“Wonderful,” he mutters to himself, pulling it on anyway. A large rip down the front exposes half his stomach and Remus sighs, trying to locate his trousers and hoping that they at least are in one piece.

Getting dressed seems to take an eternity, with lots of stopping and starting as Remus hunts for his trousers and his robes and has to keep on pausing to lean against the wall, his limbs feeling like they might just fall off at any moment. He makes the mistake of sitting down on the bed to pull on his socks and shoes and this in itself takes all of Remus’ effort. The bed cannot in any way be described as comfortable - the wooden frame has large claw marks in it, the mattress has springs that are poking out and the sparse blankets and pillows are constantly needing to be replaced, and yet as soon as Remus sits down on it he wants nothing more than to lie down and not get up again for a good twelve hours or so. As usual he has no idea what time it is, but taking a wild guess he assumes it must be quite early; no one has come to get him yet, so maybe he has time for a quick lie down.

As it turns out, he doesn’t. Footsteps sound on the other side of the door, and Remus heaves himself up, shrugging himself into his cloak which has apparently turned into lead overnight and hangs heavy on his shoulders. He makes his way to the door, but when it opens, it’s not Madam Pomfrey on the other side. It’s not even any of his friends.

“Good morning, Mr Lupin,” Professor McGonagall says briskly, and immediately Remus feels as if the walls of the Shack are dissolving away.

McGonagall has never come for him before. It’s always Madam Pomfrey, absolutely always. 

“What’s happened?” Remus asks at once. His mind jumps to all the possibilities - another attack, maybe?

“Let’s get you back up to the castle,” McGonagall says, her expression unreadable. Her voice has a gentle tinge to it, and it’s doing nothing to alleviate Remus’ worries. “I will explain everything when you are in the Hospital Wing.”

Remus doesn’t have a chance to ask any more questions, and he follows McGonagall as fast as he can despite limping on one leg. When they emerge on to the grounds, Remus is surprised to see that it’s not late like he had thought - he must have woken up early; judging from the pink and purple tinge of the sky, dawn has not long been. Madam Pomfrey usually leaves him a while to get some rest and come around so that he is more himself before she returns him to the castle. Remus doubles his efforts at picking up the pace and limps forward so that he is beside Professor McGonagall as they climb the slope towards the castle.

“Is Madam Pomfrey okay?” he asks.

“She is,” McGonagall says with a nod, staring straight ahead.

Now Remus is more confused than ever, but he doesn’t get another word out of McGonagall until they are in the Hospital Wing. Madam Pomfrey is there, to Remus’ great relief - seeing her face after his transformations for the last five years has been something that he has come to expect and even rely on, he realises. She rises from her desk and bustles over to him, pressing a glass with a gently smoking liquid into his hands.

“Drink this, Remus, and come and lie down.”

Remus takes the healing potion gratefully, chugging it down with ease. The burn it leaves in the back of his throat is worth it, as he knows soon all of his aches will disappear. He lies on his usual bed the furthest away in the room and Madam Pomfrey draws the curtains shut around him. She begins her usual inspection of his cuts and bruises, but Remus is focused on McGonagall, who has pulled up a chair beside his bed and is looking at him gravely.

“Tell me what happened,” Remus says, meeting her gaze. “Please, Professor.”

McGonagall nods. “Mr Lupin, I do have news. Something has happened, and it’s not something that is easy to say.”

She says it anyway, of course, and whatever Remus had been expecting to hear, it certainly is not _this_. When McGonagall is finished, there’s a part of him that is certain he must have misunderstood, or that McGonagall has gotten her facts muddled, she’s made a mistake somewhere, surely. He looks at her, and she stares back - her expression says it all. There is no mistake, she hasn’t got it wrong. 

Snape know that Remus is a werewolf, and it’s all Sirius’ fault.

“Would you like a Dreamless Sleep Potion, Remus?” Madam Pomfrey asks kindly.

He nods fervently, downs it in one, and can’t wait for sleep to take him.

::

When he wakes up, hours later, the room is unbearably bright. Remus fumbles for his wand on the bedside table, wanting to close the curtains that are currently allowing sunlight to stream across his face, without expending the effort of getting out of bed. Even trying to find his wand is proving to be a mammoth task. His arms feel as if they’re made of stone and he only manages to grope uselessly, raising his arm above his head only to immediately drop it again, smacking himself in the eye for his troubles. 

“Grughfgn,” he says, which is all he can manage instead of “oh good Merlin someone please close the bloody curtains.”

“I think that was the most eloquent and beautiful statement I’ve ever heard you make,” James’ voice comments, and Remus groans incoherently again because if James’ voice is here that must mean that James is here too; and if James is here that means that someone is witness to his pathetic flounderings. 

He can’t muster the strength to lift his hand from his face or to open his eyes but he can hear the creak of the wooden chair by his bed that he guesses James is sat on. There’s another sound too, like shifting footsteps, like the movements that Peter makes when he’s nervous. 

Remus loves Dreamless Sleep Potions and the heavy, uninterrupted rest that they give him. All of his worries cease to exist for hours upon glorious hours where he knows absolutely nothing at all. Waking up from a Dreamless Sleep Potion is, however, a completely different story and nowhere near as nice. Everything feels as though it takes five times as long to do in the immediate time after waking. He heaves himself on to his side and forces one eye open. 

James is sat on the chair that McGonagall had been sat in before Remus fell asleep, and Peter is stood up by the window. Sluggishly, Remus wishes that he could make it clear to Peter that he wants the curtains closed, but his mouth does not seem to be cooperating and so all Remus can do is lift his arm feebly again.

“Do you want water?” James asks, leaning forward with a glass in his hand. “Pete, help him up -” Remus starts to shake his head as violently as he can, which is not at all; the thought of sitting up is too much to even think about. James notices his struggling though. “No? You don’t want that? A pillow then, or - or do you want us to go and get Madam Pomfrey -?”

“James,” Remus forces out, every breath a struggle. “Shut. Up.”

James clamps his mouth shut almost comically. Peter is still hovering aggravatingly close to the curtains without actually closing them. Remus sighs and closes his eyes again.

::

When he opens them, the room is darker - the curtains are now finally closed - and Remus feels less like a boy turned into jelly, and finds he can actually control his limbs a lot better. Gingerly, he moves into a sitting position. His throat is dry and aching and he reaches for the glass of water that James left on his bedside table and sees that James is still there, curled up on the chair, cupping his chin in his hand. He starts to attention when he sees that Remus is awake and nearly falls off of the chair completely in his haste to assist Remus with the glass of water.

“I can manage,” Remus says quietly. “Thanks.”

James sits back, watching Remus closely. Remus drinks deeply, avoiding looking back at him, but he can’t help but notice the fresh looking cut on one side of James’ cheek and the various criss-cross of scratches on his arms. Remus knows that this can’t be avoided. He sets the empty glass of water down, takes a deep breath, and finally meets James’ eye.

“Okay,” he says. “Tell me what happened.”

James starts slowly, with lots of hesitations and obvious mulling over of his words. Remus can tell that he’s weighing up just how diplomatic to be, how exactly to paint this narrative. It’s as if James thinks that if he breaks it to him gently, it will hurt less, but instead all Remus feels is the nagging pinch like someone tugging at the edges of a plaster of a new wound. 

“James,” he says, when James finishes telling him about how the portrait of Sir Leopold told him that Sirius had been in an argument with Snape. “Can you just - go a bit faster, please?”

“Right,” James says, and then his eyes dart up as the curtain blocking them from the rest of the Hospital Wing moves aside, but it’s only Peter, edging around the bed with an arm full of sandwiches. “Is it lunch already?” James asks, again clearly stalling for time, and Remus coughs pointedly. James takes a sandwich from Peter and then another one which he tosses on to Remus’ lap. “What? I’ll get to it, Moony, I just - maybe you should eat something.”

“I’m not hungry,” Remus says. “Nearly killing someone really makes the appetite disappear - funny, that, isn’t it?”

James winces. “Remus, you didn’t -”

“No, you’re right,” Remus interrupts, his temper flaring. “Sirius did. I had no control. What does that make me then? An accomplice? A tool, or, or - a weapon, maybe?”

He stares at James and Peter, who have both gone pale and quiet. In the silence that follows Remus’ outburst the thudding of his heart seems very loud. Peter is staring down at his cheese sandwich as if it might be able to save him from this conversation or at least give him some answers on how to reply. He glances at James as if for help and Remus sighs. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I don’t want to fight with you two. I just - I need to know what happened, and it’s a little late for trying to protect my feelings. I’m involved in this, much more than I want to be, so I deserve to know how it all went down.”

Peter fidgets from foot to foot. “Did McGonagall not - tell you?”

“She did,” Remus says. “I was hoping to hear it from you two and you tell me that she’d got it all terribly wrong, but I’m guessing that’s not going to happen.”

James seems at a complete loss for what to say. Remus doesn’t think he’s ever seen James like this before, and without seeming to even be aware of what he’s doing, James takes another sandwich from Peter to go with the one he’s already holding. 

“McGonagall probably told you everything there is,” he say quietly. He glances down at his lap and seems surprised that there are two sandwiches there. He picks one up, fiddling with the crust. “Sirius -” Here he hesitates again. Remus glares at him and James picks up the pace. “Sirius told Snape to go to The Whomping Willow and try to hit the knot. I don’t know what he was thinking, Moony, or if he was even thinking at all - he and Snape were having a row, and I guess after his fight with Rosier as well -”

“And Mulciber,” Remus says bitterly. James frowns. “He had a run in with Mulciber as well,” Remus explains. “I guess Snape made it to a Slytherin hat trick.”

“What’s a hat trick?” James asks, bemused.

Remus waves a hand impatiently. “Never mind. So Sirius was just going for all of the Slytherins yesterday then. I mean, do I have to worry every time that he gets into a fight with someone, because that’s a lot of worrying.”

“I think he just - snapped,” Peter says, shooting a glance at James before speaking up. “Like James said, I don’t really think he was thinking properly.”

“That makes it worse!” Remus says. “That doesn’t excuse what he did.”

Peter falls silent again.

“No, no, it doesn’t,” James says quickly. “Of course it doesn’t, Moony. What Sirius did was completely wrong.”

“How is Snape?” Remus asks.

James shrugs. “He’s not hurt. I - uh, when Sirius told me what he did - I went to find him. Peter went to McGonagall who raised the alarm to Dumbledore. I went to the tunnel and managed to get Snape out of the way in time.”

Remus frowns, staring down at the regulation infirmary blanket. It seems easier to address the woven fabric than to have to look his friends in the eye. 

“How did Sirius tell you?” he asks, and this time he hesitates because he’s not sure if he wants to hear this part of the story.

“What do you mean?” James asks. “He - he told me what he’d done, and I went straight to the Willow -”

“Yes, but how?” Remus presses on. He has to hear this bit. “Did Sirius come and find you after he’d told Snape? Yeah, you went to get Snape - but did Sirius ask you to? Did Sirius go with you to help?”

James is silent for so long that Remus thinks that he’s not going to answer the question, but eventually he speaks.

“He told me just before we went into our Astronomy lesson,” James says levelly. “He made a comment about Snape getting beaten up and his face rearranged, and I realised what he must have done, and I went.”

“You realised what he must have done,” Remus repeats. “So - Sirius didn’t realise what he’d done until after you told him about it.” He laughs, a small, humourless noise. “You’re right, he really wasn’t thinking, was he? Or if he was, it was just about how to get one up on Snape, and sod the rest of us - who cares that you had to go after Snape, that I nearly - that I could have -” Remus breaks off and falls silent. After a while he finally looks up. Peter and James are both watching him, looking at a complete loss, which is just about how Remus feels. “Sorry, you two,” he says heavily. “I think I’m just going to go back to sleep.”

“You don’t have to apologise to us, Moony,” James says, putting a hand on Remus’ shoulder. “We’re here for you, okay? Whatever you need.”

Remus swallows, nods once. “I think I just want to be left alone for a while. Will you tell Flitwick that I won’t be in Charms?”

“Of course.”

“I think you’ve got a free pass for the day, anyway,” Peter tells him. “Want us to bring you your homework to try to cheer you up?”

At this, Remus does smile, just a bit. “Yeah. Thanks, Pete.”

“No problem!” Peter says, looking immensely relieved that he’s managed to say something right.

“We’ll be back after class,” James promises. “If that’s okay?”

Remus shrugs. “I doubt I’ll be much company, but sure.”

James smiles. “Doesn’t matter. We’ll be here.”

Before they go, Remus asks, before he can stop himself. “Where is Sirius?”

James doesn’t turn around, only half turns his head. “I haven’t seen him all day. He’s in the dormitory, I think.”

Remus nods. “Right. See you both later.”

::

Madam Pomfrey doesn’t allow him any more Dreamless Sleep Potion, which is annoying as now that he is awake, Remus finds it impossible to get back to sleep. His whole body aches again and he can’t stop thinking about last night - not that he remembers what happened, of course, but through all that he’s heard Remus has managed to piece together a dark and fast-paced storyboard in his head. He sees Sirius and Snape getting into a fight, Sirius with that maniacal glint in his eye, Snape throwing insults, Sirius laughing, goading him - “just hit the knot on the Willow, I dare you!” - and Snape slipping out of the castle as the sun is setting, hurrying across the grounds. He sees James pelting at full force towards them both, fighting with the Willow; and at the same time he sees Snape at the end of the tunnel, his mouth open, his eyes wide in horror; and he sees the werewolf lunge for the boy, and Snape’s expression because he’s been right all along - and he sees Sirius watching over the scene, smirking, and then hears Sirius’ voice in his head, as clear as if he’s whispering it in Remus’ ear: “Well, honestly, what did you expect from me?”

Remus blinks, startling himself out of his train of thought. It’s not doing him any good to dwell on the events of last night or to try to imagine a scene-by-scene playback in his mind, and yet he can’t focus on anything else. Madam Pomfrey comes by and tries to coax him into eating something, but Remus isn’t hungry. The sandwich that Peter had brought up earlier sits untouched on the bedside table alongside a bowl of soup that Madam Pomfrey drops off. Remus ignores all of this and scoots further under the blankets, bundling them up over his head and closing his eyes. Ignoring the world around him does not stop the barrage of questions, however, and he becomes more and more restless as each one floats through his mind and then takes up space in the forefront, unbudging. 

Why did Sirius do it? How could he be so thoughtless? Remus understands hating Snape, but he’s never harboured any proper wish to physically harm him, and the thought of what he could have done - what he nearly did - to Snape last night makes Remus feel sick. What if Snape tells everyone? Will they remove him from Hogwarts? Dumbledore probably would fight his case for him, but if all the students parents complained, then really what choice did Dumbledore or anyone else have? 

Frustrated, Remus presses the heels of his hands over his eyes until he sees bursts of light behind his eyelids. The pain helps, if only momentarily. Remus flings the blankets back and sits up in the bed, thinking that if he stays here any longer he’ll probably drive himself mad. If he stays away from the dormitory then maybe he can avoid running into Sirius. _What a shame we don’t have the Map up and running_ , he thinks, and then realises how sad it is that he’s wanting to use the Map to avoid his friends when it’s been something they’ve been planning together. _Some friend_ , a voice says in his ear. _He could have made you into a murderer_.

The curtain to his corner of the room is swaying slightly and Remus stills, listening hard. It’s almost silent - he can hear the scratching of Madam Pomfrey’s quill from her desk, and the cough from another student at the other end of the room - but there’s something else as well - a familiar scent in the air, something comforting and familiar, something like mud and the distinct smell of outside, and the cologne that is always sprayed liberally around the dormitory on Hogsmeade weekends - 

Remus reaches out towards the chair, makes a fist around what should be thin air, and pull his arm back towards him. The Invisibility Cloak falls off of Sirius and reveals him sat cross-legged in the chair, strands of his hair static and falling across his forehead from where the Cloak has been pulled off. 

“Hey, Moony,” he says softly.

Remus clenches the shimmery material of the Invisibility Cloak in a fist. Hey, Moony? That’s what he has to say?

“Get out,” Remus says, shoving the Cloak back at him.

“Wait, please,” Sirius says, scrambling up from his position on the chair. For a second Remus thinks that Sirius is going to dare to get on the bed with him, but instead he kneels down so that he’s practically leaning over the bedspread to talk to Remus. “Before you kick me out, I just need you to listen to me.”

“I’m not interested in anything you have to say, Sirius. Now get lost before I call Madam Pomfrey over here.”

“Moony, I’m s -”

“Don’t call me that,” Remus snaps. He’s not in the mood to be reminded of his being a werewolf today, and certainly not by Sirius. He also doesn’t think that he can stand it if Sirius apologises to him, at least not right now. Even the sight of Sirius sat in front of him is causing Remus’ stomach to clench, and angry though he is, Remus knows that he only has so much resolve, especially feeling as vulnerable as he is after a full moon. 

Sirius stands up, holding the Cloak loosely in his hands, his eyes never leaving Remus. 

“Can I come back later?”

“No,” Remus says shortly, turning to stare at the wall. 

When he looks again, Sirius has gone, the smell of earth and cologne with him.

::

James is nearly apoplectic when Remus recounts this to him later. 

“I can’t believe him!” he says, for at least the tenth time. 

He hasn’t yet sat down and is instead pacing in front of Remus’ bed. Remus is sat on top of his blankets, fully dressed in his own clothes, ready to go. He can’t hide in the Hospital Wing forever, and he thinks he may as well be in Gryffindor Tower if Sirius is going to seek him out regardless of where he is. At least outside of the Hospital Wing, Remus will have a James shaped bodyguard. 

“As if he took my Cloak,” James mutters, still pacing. “That bastard.”

“You did tell us we’re welcome to use it anytime -” Peter begins.

James shoots him a look. “I meant for official Marauder business. He shouldn’t have taken it to creep up on Remus. The Cloak’s been violated, he’s sullied the code.” 

“Stop pacing,” Remus says tiredly, and James stops at once. “Can we go now? I just want to get out of here.”

It’s been a long time since Remus has spent an entire day in the Hospital Wing after a transformation. Since his friends became Animagi, the full moon nights have been less violent and he’s usually only needed a few minor scratches or cuts healed and a few hours extra rest before he’s fit to go again. Today has been the worst that Remus has felt in a long time on a day after, and he’s not sure if it’s because the wolf was alone, or because he knows what Sirius has done. In any case he told Madam Pomfrey that he needed to stay in for the day and rest, only now Remus realises he can’t hide in here forever.

James and Peter stick close by him on the journey back to Gryffindor Tower, and James instructs Peter to go in to the portrait hole first and scout out if Sirius is there. Peter pokes his head out seconds later, confirming that the coast is clear, although when they get into the common room, Remus realises that by the coast being clear, Peter only meant clear of Sirius. There’s still a room full of Gryffindors, and when James and Remus walk in, a hush falls over the usual babble of chatter. It seems as if even the fire pauses in its crackling. Students shoot Remus curious looks as he walks by and he concentrates on not looking at any of them as he makes his way to the staircase, and yet he’s extremely aware that most eyes are on him.

“James,” he says quietly. “What do they all know?”

“Nothing,” James says firmly. “Don’t worry. Peter, go check the dormitory, would you, make sure he’s not there.”

Sirius is not in the dormitory either. Remus sinks gratefully on to his bed as soon as he gets inside, and then fixes Peter and James with a stern look.

“All right, what was that about? It certainly looks like they know something.”

“Snape hasn’t blabbed,” James says at once. “He’s just - well, obviously he’s been in a foul mood all day, and earlier on he - well, he tried to hex me in the hallway on my way to History of Magic.”

Remus frowns. “What? Why would he do that? I mean, you saved his life!”

James rubs a hand across the back of his neck, shrugging. “Well, yeah, and he hates that, obviously. I mean, he’s just been proved that he’s been right all this time and he’s under instructions from Dumbledore that he can’t tell anyone. And he knows that the teachers knew all this time. So I’m guessing that he’s bitter, and wanted to take it out on me. For all he knows, I sent him to the Willow right along with Sirius or was in on it all somehow and he thinks I chickened out at the last minute. I don’t know what he thinks, to be honest, but he’s a little git. So I hexed him back obviously -” Remus groans at this and James says, hastily, “Well, people were starting to ask questions! No one knows what went down last night. All the Slytherins know is that Snape was hauled into Dumbledore’s office for some reason, and he’s got a few nasty bruises this morning. All the Gryffindors know is that Sirius is being heftily punished for something. The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs are clueless, obviously, but you know how Hogwarts is - rumours, gossip. There’s some story floating around about how we all got into a massive fight or something. I don’t really know. Some squirt in Second Year tried to ask me earlier but I said I’d zip his ears closed for him if he kept on listening to rubbish.”

James stretches out on his bed, his arms behind his head. 

“Honestly, Remus. No one knows about you.”

“Except Snape,” Peter says, as if Remus needed reminding, “but he won’t tell anyone. James hexed him back good and proper.”

“We have to uphold the status quo,” James says hastily, when he sees Remus frown. “I don’t want anyone thinking I saved Severus Snape’s life! Not that it was much of one to save in the first place, the slimy -”

“Don’t,” Remus says quietly. He sighs, his head starting to hurt again with all this information, trying to figure out who knows what or who suspects what. “So - Sirius is being punished?”

“Oh, yeah,” Peter says quickly. “He’s got detention for the rest of the year - that’s probably where he is now, come to think of it - and he’s off the Quidditch team, and banned from Hogsmeade for six months.”

Remus thinks this over. It’s not much of a punishment, really. Detention for the rest of the year - well, the year is nearly over, and six weeks of his six month Hogsmeade ban will be during the summer holidays. All that Sirius being off the Quidditch team will do is reduce their chances of winning the Cup. Remus doesn’t even dare ask how many points Sirius lost them but he safely assumes that they’re in no position to be going for the House Cup either. Remus sighs. What a shitty end to the year, and O.W.Ls haven’t even started yet.

“I thought he was going to be expelled,” Peter continues, frowning. “I mean, what he did - it’s huge, really.”

Remus nods mutely. He wonders if Sirius had been anyone else, if expulsion would have been the punishment. He imagines Walburga Black’s face if Sirius was kicked out of school, imagines Sirius turning up at Grimmauld Place with a snapped wand - Dumbledore may have been lenient, but Remus thinks he probably acted for the best in this scenario. At least, in the best interests of Sirius’ welfare. As usual, Sirius Black messes up, and it’s other people that suffer the most.

“Let’s not think on it anymore, eh?” James says, sitting up and looking between Remus and Peter with a pained expression. 

James leans over to rummage through his bedside drawer and pulls out a pack of cards. Remus has never felt less in the mood to play games, and yet he appreciates James’ attempts. He can’t face the idea of dwelling on it all and driving himself crazy, so he takes the pack from James and starts to absentmindedly shuffle the deck and deal them out. It’s going to take more than a game of cards to distract him from Sirius, but right now he going to take what he can get.


	76. tensions.

_June 1976._

May crawls into June wrapped in stifling heat and even more stifling silences.

For the most part, the boys seem to have worked out an unspoken rule for the times when they are all together in the dormitory. In the morning, Remus gets up first and has left before Sirius gets out of bed. It takes a few mornings of this happening for Peter to twig on that Sirius is probably not just a late riser, but is consciously waiting for Remus to leave the room before he appears. When Peter mentions this to James, James just scoffs.

“So he should,” he says darkly. “I wish he’d wait until I left the room as well.”

Peter isn’t so sure that James means this. Seeing James without Sirius is - well, it’s strange. As part of a foursome, Peter has been fairly sure of his position in the ranks: he knows he’s not the _best_ best friend, and he’s not used to so much of James’ sudden attention. When it comes to pairing up in lessons, Peter has always known that James and Sirius gravitate towards each other more often than not, and he gets to work with Remus. Now, as a trio, with James sticking to Remus’ side as if he’s scared Remus won’t be able to stand upright if he leaves, Peter is left to find somebody else, and for the first few lessons after it all kicks off, he’s determined that that person is not going to be Sirius.

In Potions he finds himself working with Mary. Mary’s a nice girl - Peter had considered asking her to Hogsmeade once, a year or so ago, before Sirius had laughed at him and put him off the idea - and she chats away as she adds a handful of mandrake root to the potion and a pinch of salamander scales, not bothering to weigh anything out. 

“Shouldn’t you be using scales?” Peter asks her dubiously, as she chucks in a white powder. Peter leans closer to the textbook and reads ‘one scoop of rat bone’ and recoils hastily, feeling queasy.

Mary laughs. “Probably, if I cared about my grade at all. My mum cooks like this at home - she says following recipes is for wimps.”

“Is your mother’s cooking likely to explode, though?” Peter says, edging away as the potion starts belching thick, gurgling bubbles.

Mary grins at him. “Depends on what she’s cooking.”

Mary seems the only care-free student in their year. Tensions in the rest of Gryffindor Tower are running high. The start of exams are less than two weeks away, and in between trying to cram in last minute study sessions and worrying himself sick over what will happen to him if he doesn’t scrape enough A’s in his results, Peter has suddenly found himself in the middle of the worst fight he can ever remember his friends having. It’s worse than it ever was in First Year, when James and Sirius used to yell at each other or one of them would attempt to swing a half-hearted, eleven-year-old punch at the other. Now, in the thick silences that surround them both whenever they’re in the same room together, Peter thinks he’d much rather have them yelling at each other. 

He can’t remember a time when James and Sirius haven’t been talking to each other, and it’s strange to wake up in the first few days after the incident with Snape to a silent dormitory; there’s no James throwing pillows at Sirius’ head, no Sirius jumping on him in retaliation, no one pranking anyone by turning the shower water cold whilst someone else is in it. Remus and James have started to both rise extremely early in the morning and leave the dormitory before Sirius is up, and in the evenings Sirius more often than not has detention, so all in all they see surprisingly little of Sirius in the aftermath. Peter had expected him to make more of a scene, but he doesn’t try to approach Remus in any of their lessons or in their downtime; he eats at meal times like someone on a timer, bolting his food down before disappearing. He doesn’t have Quidditch anymore to keep him occupied and yet he’s hardly ever in the common room, and one afternoon Peter had made the mistake of asking if anyone knew where he was. Remus had paused in his History of Magic revision and looked up at Peter with a cool stare, and James had snapped, “Of course we don’t know where he is!” Peter hadn’t bothered asking again after that. 

It’s not just the four of them that are effected by the aftermath of what has happened. A furious Meredith Oliphant storms over to where James is sitting with Peter one evening. Her shadow falls over Peter’s book and he glances up, instantly shrinking back at the sight of the girl’s furious expression. James, however, just grins.

“Good evening, Meredith, what can I do for you?”

“Oh, don’t give me that, James,” Meredith snaps. “What the hell happened?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” James murmurs.

“Yes, you do!” Meredith says, storming around to the front of the sofa to glare at them face-on. “Why in the name of Merlin has Black gotten himself kicked off the team?”

“Meredith, no offence, but that’s really none of your -”

“Yes, it is my business! I’m the Quidditch Captain! We have a game against Slytherin in a few days time, and this is - it’s my last -”

“Ah,” James says knowingly. “Is this because you’re graduating and it’s your last shot at glory?”

A vein is throbbing dangerously in Meredith’s forehead, and Peter thinks that James Potter is a far more braver man than he is, because he wouldn’t be taunting Meredith by reminding her of that right about now.

“I wanted to get the team in ship-shape, I wanted to get everything organised for a smooth hand-over to the new Captain. I wanted -”

Marlene appears in the midst of Meredith’s rant and leads her away, arms over her shoulder, to sit in the comfy chair by the fire. Peter watches as Marlene produces a cup of tea from somewhere and presses it into Meredith’s hands, smoothing her hair back from her forehead, and then she comes back over to the two of them with a glum look on her face.

“Sorry about her,” she says, sighing. “There’s been a lot of change lately, she’s not coping very well, and stressing about N.E.W.T’s. I think Quidditch was the one thing she was counting on. I’d bet money on her wanting to sneak into the stands and coach the team next year from the side-lines.”

“Good thing she’s got you, eh, McKinnon?” James says with a wink.

Marlene rolls her eyes. “We broke up, Potter. But we’re still friends, so she does still have me, just get your mind out of the gutter.”

“You broke up? How come?” Peter asks.

Marlene shrugs nonchalantly, leaning down to pinch a Fizzing Strawberry Wand from the pile of sweets James and Peter have hoarded on to the coffee table for their revision snacks.

"Just the end of the year, innit?" she says. "Once we graduate we'll be off doing completely separate things. Mere wants to pursue Quidditch, and I'm looking at going into something with demanding hours -" again Marlene shrugs, ripping the Strawberry Wand in half with her teeth, waving the end in her hand as she talks, " - it just wouldn't work out in the long run."

"What do you want to do?" James asks curiously.

Marlene throws him a wink. "Something like a civil servant. I'm going to miss you boys though!" she says, deftly changing the subject. It works: James puffs out at the compliment, his hand going to ruffle up the back of his hair, but before he can, Marlene smacks his hand away with another Wand she's picked up.

"Stop doing that," she says, half laughing, half cringing. "You'll get more luck with the ladies when you stop doing stupid stuff like that. Trust me, I'm an expert."

James drops his hand. "We're going to miss you too, Marlene."

She smiles at them, looking a little exasperated and a little fond. "Look after Alfie for me. And - whatever is going on between you all and Black - a word of advice? I'd say with all the shit thats going on lately, its a time to keep your friends together. Whatever he did - and I'm guessing it was monumentally stupid - you have to ask yourself is it really worth losing someone over, especially at a time like this?" 

Peter glances at James to see how he takes this as Marlene returns to Meredith. James doesn’t say anything but later that evening he asks Peter to keep an eye on Sirius.

“Why me?” Peter mutters. He’s not relishing in the idea of babysitting a moody Sirius.

James gives him a strange look, and places a hand on his shoulder, his expression suddenly solemn. “Because you’re a Marauder too, Pete. We’re all in this together, yeah?”

And so Peter finds himself trailing around after Sirius. If Sirius thinks the sudden switch in allegiance odd, he doesn't mention it. He just grunts when Peter first asks to accompany him during morning break and Peter hurries after him before he can change his mind. They end up in the library, and that’s where Peter learns what Sirius has been doing in all of his spare time. 

Sirius unfurls a giant piece of parchment, and when Peter studies it more closely he sees that the sketchings on it are those of floor plans, and it looks almost identical to the very first Hogwarts blueprints they’d managed to scare up. 

“That’s the Map,” Peter says.

Sirius nods. “That’s the Map.”

The cogs fall, every so slowly, into place. Peter frowns at Sirius across the table.

“This is what you’ve been doing when you've been disappearing all this time?” 

Sirius shrugs. “After Easter I wanted to be on my own for a lot of the time, and it just seemed to make sense. It needs to be finished before we graduate, and everyone had been so busy with O.W.L’s, so I just thought I’d get the bulk of it done and then I was going to surprise you lot. I figured we could get started on the Honoculous Charm next year, once all the drafting of the layout is done.”

“And is it done?” Peter asks, edging closer. 

The parchment has been folded into at least eight segments, and Peter recognises The Great Hall and the towers, the kitchens, even the grounds and the Quidditch pitch. The layout of it extends right up to the borders of The Forbidden Forest.

“Just about.”

“This is great!” Peter says excitedly. “Wait until James and Remus find out!”

“I don’t want them to find out,” Sirius says quickly, shooting him a glare. “Not yet anyway. I mean it, Wormtail. I’ll tell them when this all - when this all blows over, all right?”

“All right.”

They sit in silence for a while, Sirius adding more on to the Map and Peter trying to focus on his Care of Magical Creatures revision. He still hasn’t memorised all of the different breeds of dragon and their differences, and Professor Kettleburn has been hinting heavily that dragons will appear in the written exam. 

Soon enough the scratching of Sirius’ quill halts, and when Peter looks up, it’s to see Sirius staring at him intently.

“Er - you okay, mate?” 

“Who sent you?” Sirius asks abruptly.

Peter’s stomach drops and he fidgets in his chair. “What do you mean?”

“Was it James or was it Remus?” 

Peter sighs, hating being caught out. “James,” he says at last.

Sirius nods. He looks vaguely disappointed, but then drops his attention back down to the Map, and doesn’t speak again.

He doesn’t bring up Remus or James again, but Peter notices in the week that follows that little things start to change. Whereas before Sirius would wait until James and Remus left the room before emerging from behind the curtains of his bed in the mornings, on Monday of the following week he gets up just as James is coming out of the bathroom. They pass each other in the doorway, and James nods very briefly to him before averting his eyes, still scrubbing at his hair with a towel and making it stand up in every direction. 

Sirius doesn’t approach Remus directly, but at breakfast when Remus is looking around for the sugar bowl, Sirius passes it to him wordlessly. In lessons things are much the same - James is sat with Remus and Peter is with Sirius or, more frequently, Mary - but on the Wednesday in Potions Sirius drops a note on the table next to Remus’ cauldron on his way to the supply cupboard. Remus looks at it for a moment, forgetting to stir his potion, and then picks it up and drops it into his cauldron without reading it. Sirius, watching from the cupboard doorway, returns to the table he’s sharing with Peter, a definite slump to his shoulders. After the lesson, Remus packs his things away and leaves the room before all of them, but James doesn’t hurry after him. Instead he approaches Sirius.

“What did the note say?” he asks.

Sirius looks up at him warily. It’s been over a week since they’ve spoken. 

“It said I was sorry,” he says at last.

“You know you’re going to have to do better than that, right?” 

“I’m trying,” Sirius begins, frustrated, but then stops with an exasperated sigh. “Whatever. Did you just come over to tell me what I already knew?”

“No,” James says coolly. “I came over to ask if you wanted to come to the library to start on that Draught of Peace homework, but if you’re going to be shirty with me -”

“No,” Sirius says quickly. “No, I’m not. I’ll come.”

“Good.” James turns to Peter with a smile. “You coming, Pete?”

Peter could do with starting on the homework, but he has a feeling that this is something that James and Sirius have to do on their own. He shakes his head.

“Nah, I’m all right. Let me borrow your notes later?”

“As always,” James says, laughing. “We’ll see you later.”

Peter walks to the common room on his own. Remus isn’t anywhere to be seen, so Peter sits on the chair by the fire with his legs tucked up under him and pulls out his well-thumbed through Herbology textbook. His eyes skim down the random page he’s opened it on, but he’s not really taking any of it in. He supposes that the fight between James and Sirius is over now. It hadn’t lasted very long, but Peter in truth is surprised that it lasted more than a week - ever since First Year James and Sirius have been inseparable, and seeing one without the other for such a long amount of time had been strange to say the least. Now, Peter supposes, things will go back to normal at least in that respect. He wonders how long it will take before Sirius makes up with Remus. 

“Mind if I join?” 

Peter looks up in time to see Mary settling down on the sofa opposite. Peter watches curiously as she digs around in her bag and eventually takes out a copy of _Witch Weekly_ , flicking to the middle pages and cupping her chin in her hand as she begins to read.

“Not revising?” he says, which is stupid because of course she’s not. Mary doesn’t laugh at him though. Mary’s never really laughed at him, come to think of it. 

She shrugs, staring down at the glossy magazine where a blonde witch is applying make-up and winking up from the pages. “Nah. Don’t see much point.”

Peter has heard all about Mary’s apathy towards her studies and her exams, and although a part of him wishes he could be so relaxed at a time like this, he mostly thinks the situation with Mary is incredibly strange and a little sad. He’s always liked her the best, out of the Gryffindor girls in their year. Dorcas is too studious, and Lily is just plain scary at times, and despite being his first kiss, Peter has never really had much to do with Moira since then - but Mary is friendly and has always had time for him, and he thinks that it’s a shame that she’s just - giving up. He’s reminded of his father, who-knows-where in Spain, living as a Muggle, abandoning his heritage. 

“Are you sure?” he asks then, feeling suddenly brave. “I mean - why would you give something like this up?”

Mary smiles thinly. “It’s not that great for everyone, Peter, trust me.”

Peter can’t imagine not thinking that being a wizard is great. The thought of having to do things the Muggle way forever is exhausting and just seems silly. 

“I mean, let’s face it,” Mary carries on blithely, “there’s not much for people like you and me, is there?”

Peter frowns and bites back the urge to snap that he’s not a Muggle-born, thank you very much. True, he’s not Pureblooded like James and Sirius, he doesn’t have generations of magical blood flowing through his veins and the world isn’t as open to him as it is to them, and yet - he’s not on the same level as __Mary. His mother was a Selwyn, after all. He’s even, he reckons, higher up than the likes of Remus, but he can’t tell Mary that of course. So instead he just smiles, but his feelings for Mary turn considerably cooler after that remark and he’s just thinking of a way he can excuse himself without seeming too rude when Remus walks into the common room.

“Remus!” Peter says, scrambling to his feet. “Hi. Want to go over some Herbology notes?”

“I’ve just done an hour of Arithmancy,” Remus says, looking exhausted. “Where’s James, won’t he go over it with you?”

“Ah.” Peter falters. “James is, uh -”

He’s saved from having to think of an apropriate way to break the news to Remus when the news walks in. James and Sirius are side by side, laughing, although they both stop dead at the sight of Remus and all of the colour drains from Sirius’ face. Sirius ducks his head as Remus glares stonily at them both, but James strides across the room.

“That lasted long,” Remus mutters churlishly, throwing an accusing look at Sirius.

James sighs. “Remus, mate, I think this needs to stop now. We all need to stick together.”

“I don’t want him anywhere near me,” Remus says, and without another word he heads up to the dormitory.

Mary is still staring down at her magazine but Peter suspects she’s long stopped reading it. Sirius groans, throwing himself down on the sofa next to her, and she gives a little squeak at the impact.

“Oh, sorry, Mary - well, that went about as well as a Niffler in a jewelry shop, I’d say.”

James smiles encouragingly. “He just needs time. He’ll come round.”

Sirius glances mournfully in the direction of the dormitory. “I hope you’re right.”


	77. magazines and matches.

_June 1976._

Lily pushes open the door to The Three Broomsticks and steps inside. The usual noisy backdrop of chatter stills for a moment and Lily is aware of the eyes of every patron in the pub turning to look at her. It doesn’t last long - as soon as they see it’s just a Hogwarts student, everyone goes back to talking and doesn’t pay her any attention. Madam Rosmerta gives her a smile from behind the bar, but Lily can see the relief in her eyes. The landlady’s hair is coming undone from it’s top bun, frizzing out at the sides; she definitely looks stressed, her smile a bit too thin. The stresses of the news are effecting everywhere, and Hogsmeade has not escaped. Everyone seems to be on high-alert, poised for action, tensing every time a door opens. Dorcas had said it had been the same in Diagon Alley over the Easter break, shopkeepers nervous and jittery, and Dorcas swears she’d even seen a Dementor briefly, although her mother had told her she was being ridiculous and it was just the hem of an overly long cloak. Lily had shivered regardless, and she’s grateful for Dumbledore, who, security measures be damned, has said he doesn’t want Dementors anywhere near his school or anywhere his students frequent.

Benjy is already sat on a stool at the bar and he waves her over. Two bottles of butterbeer are in front of him and he slides one over to her as she takes a seat. Lily thanks him, fumbles in her pockets for some money, but he waves her off.

“Don’t be silly. My treat,” he says. She blushes and pockets her Sickles, hoping fervently that Amber McCroy is not lurking somewhere nearby. “It’s good to see you, Lil. Thanks for agreeing to meet me.”

“I came here for the gossip, Fenwick, so spill.”

Benjy reaches down into his satchel and pulls out a copy of the magazine that he had shown Lily the last time he saw her. 

He had been right about the rest of the Prefects being on high alert for it. The Head Girl Sylvia had taken her to one side a few days before and warned her about it, told her to confiscate any copies. She’d even used the word “propaganda” although Lily thinks that’s being ridiculous. 

It hadn’t taken Lily long to get her hands on a copy - she’d taken one from a Second Year Hufflepuff just yesterday. She hadn’t turned it in to the teachers though. Instead, it’s in her trunk under her bed; she’d glanced through it only last night, curiosity getting the better of her, and she’d flicked through its pages behind the safety of her drawn curtains. Not that she thought that any of her dorm-mates would tell on her to anyone if they caught her with a copy of _A Muddy View_ , but Lily knows that Dorcas is a chronic worrier, and Mary wants no part in any act of rebellion, and Lily has never been close to Moira, not really, so she’d only looked at the magazine after lights out, when the other girls were asleep. 

“Have you read it?” Benjy asks, putting the magazine down in front of both of them, apparently not in the least bit concerned about being seen.

Lily nods. “I’ve looked through it, yeah.”

There weren’t many pages to it to read through, and the pages that had been there had consisted of an article about the rebuild of the buildings that had been damaged in the Lambeth attack in London months ago; an advert for the Shop of Curiosities in Hogsmeade that sold Muggle knick-knacks - mostly tat, really, but tat that seemed to be endlessly fascinating to wizards and witches: biro pens, spiral-bound lined notebooks, plugs, umbrellas, even things like steering wheels and windscreen wipers for cars. 

The magazine also has a page dedicated to the Muggle-born Society and its times and places of meeting; and an article about Purebloods breeding with Muggle-borns that had made Lily laugh, equally nervous and impressed; it’s tone was completely satirical, the author wondering if society at large should be concerned with the effects of Muggles and Muggle-borns having children with Purebloods producing small-minded children incapable of original thought. Lily remembers all of the articles she’s read in _The Daily Prophet_ , all of the scathing words about diluting magical blood - the article in _A Muddy View_ had made her laugh, it had made her worry, but it’s tone, with all of its blatant poking fun at the bigoted views of people had, for the first time in a long while, made Lily realise how utterly idiotic the kind of people who believe all that blood purity rubbish really are. It had turned the whole thing into a joke, and for once it hadn’t seemed so scary. It had just seemed pathetic.

“What did you think?” Benjy asks, leaning forward on his stool.

“What did I think?” Lily repeats thoughtfully. “Well, let’s see - I thought you were raving mad for writing something like that, for one, and clearly a glutton for punishment for publishing it and distributing it - but also, I thought it was bloody brilliant.”

Benjy’s face breaks out into a grin. “Really?”

“Really,” Lily says seriously. “You made them all sound like fools. And portraying it as you did - you know, the joking tone, so no one can really accuse you of accusing anyone of anything else - that’s clever.”

“I’m not a Ravenclaw for nothing,” Benjy says, still smiling. He takes a swig of his butterbeer, looking extremely pleased with himself. “I’m glad you like it. Your opinion means a lot. I was hoping maybe - maybe you’d want to help with the next edition?”

Lily frowns, faltering at that. “The next edition?”

“Well, yeah,” Benjy says, packing the copy away again in his bag. “I started it as a bit of a lark, really, y’know, I was bored over summer and had this idea that I just wanted people to listen to us for a change. Nobody really hears our side of the story, after all. Wizards have loads of platforms - _The Daily Prophet_ is completely biased, of course, and there’s no real fair coverage of what’s going on. I thought _A Muddy View_ would be a great way to get the message across.”

“And the message is…?”

“That we’re not going to take any of their shit any longer!” Benjy says, his expression deadly serious. “I think if we can get a copy out a month, you know, report on things like the attacks - give our perspective - we could interview some students - God, we could out the ones that are behind all the nasty bullying at school -”

“Benjy,” Lily interrupts. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.” Benjy looks at her, obviously hurt. He opens his mouth to say something, but Lily presses on before he can. “Look, I think it’s great that you’re so passionate about all of this. Honestly, I’ve always admired that about you - founding the Muggle-born Society and everything, I think that’s wonderful, a great way for students from Muggle backgrounds and upbringings to feel safe and included in this world - but I think that’s the most important thing. Them being safe.” 

She stresses the last word, looking at Benjy levelly, but his frown just deepens.

“I don’t understand,” he says. “We’re giving them a voice. We’d be telling the real story.”

“You’d be getting a lot of people into a lot of trouble,” Lily says gently. She glances at Madam Rosmerta - she has her back turned to the both of them, apparently restocking the shelves, but Lily is aware that she hasn’t moved much in the last few minutes. Lily lowers her voice. “Benjy, think of what you’re asking people to do. Give interviews -”

“It could be anonymously,” Benjy says stubbornly.

“Report on other students?” Lily says, eyebrows raised. “The type of people who do the bullying don’t need a reason to be bullies already - you’d just be adding fuel to the fire -”

“The fuel is already there!” Benjy says, getting to his feet. He looks angry now, staring at Lily as if she’s the one not making any sense. “This war isn’t just coming, Lily, the war is _here_ \- and I can’t just sit inside the school walls and pretend it’s not, I can’t just think that the world is made up of exam results and career opportunities when there’s people actively working to strip people like you and me of them. I can’t just wait around until I graduate, I have to do something now.”

“What are you going to do after you graduate?” Lily asks, equal parts wanting to calm him down and also genuinely curious.

Benjy shrugs, pulling his bag over his shoulders. “I don’t know yet. But there’s been talk -” he breaks off, shrugging. “It doesn’t matter. I thought you were on-side, that it would be cool to bring you on board, make you a part of this - but -”

“I’m a part of this whether I like it or not,” Lily retorts. “I don’t think that being Muggle-born gives me much choice in the matter, do you?” She glares up at Benjy defiantly until he sits back down on the stool. “I just think you need to be more careful. Your name is plastered all over this,” she says, gesturing at the magazine. “I think it’s great that you’re turning things on their head, making them seem a joke - and I think that’s how it should stay. It’s like - it’s like dealing with a Boggart, isn’t it?”

Benjy’s eyebrows draw together in confusion. “Now you’re talking like the door to my common room.”

“Things aren’t as scary if you can laugh at them,” Lily says, fiddling with the label on her butterbeer. “If you’re wanting to send a message to the younger students still - I think that’s as good a message as any.”

Benjy stares at her, and then finally smiles. “That actually makes a lot of sense.”

Lily takes another sip of her drink and raises the bottle to Benjy in a salute. “Of course it does, I thought of it. Not just a pretty face, me, you know.”

Benjy laughs. “Don’t I know it.”

“So where is Amber these days?” Lily asks, relieved that she’s managed to steer the conversation into calmer waters. “You’re still together, right?

“Oh, yeah,” Benjy says easily. “Amber’s great - sorry, I know she was a bit of a pain to you last year but that’s just because she loves me so much,” he finishes with a hearty laugh. “Because I’m so irresistible, obviously.”

Lily snorts. “Careful with that big head of yours, you might not fit back out of the door.”

Benjy’s eyes have a mischievous twinkle to them. “And what about you and James Potter? I hear you’re seeing him now.”

“What?!” Lily says, feeling suddenly flushed. “Who told you that?”

“He’s had a thing for you for forever.”

Lily shrugs. She can’t act as if this is new information to her, but still, talking about this kind of thing with her ex boyfriend is a little bit weird.

“I don’t know. Maybe. We’re friends. Friendly. Kind of - most days - some days.” She laughs. “He’s an arrogant so-and-so most of the time, but then once in a while he’s not so bad.”

“I think you have a thing for arrogant so-and-so’s,” Benjy says teasingly. “Anyway, Potter is better than Severus Snape.”

“Sev was never my boyfriend,” Lily reminds him

A darker look passes across Benjy’s features. “Good. I’d rather you be with Potter than with him, if you had to have your pick of awful men.”

Lily laughs. “Is that all I get? The pick of the worst lot? Wow, thanks a bunch, Benjy.”

Lily is pleased that she’s managed to talk him around from taking _A Muddy View_ too far into an incendiary direction. Especially if the teachers are already wanting to ban it - and Lily can hardly blame them, really; most of the students at Hogwarts don’t need a reason to snap at each other these days, and Lily can only imagine what the outcome would be if Benjy and his friends were to suddenly start accusing people of being Death Eater recruits. Lily doesn’t want Benjy getting into any more trouble than he already has. 

The rest of their afternoon passes pleasantly enough. _A Muddy View_ isn’t mentioned again, and instead they talk about their upcoming exams, Benjy telling her all about his first year of N.E.W.T’s. Lily’s dad comes up in conversation as well, and Benjy says how sorry he was to hear it, and he’s one of the few people who Lily hears that from and doesn’t want to slap them in the face. It’s never been awkward, talking to Benjy, and Lily thinks how nice it is to have him as a friend now. All in all Lily thinks it somewhat of a shame when they have to go back to Hogwarts to watch the Slytherin versus Gryffindor Quidditch match. She would suggest skipping it, but Benjy is such a Quidditch nut that she knows he’d never go for it.

“Are Ravenclaw still in the running for the Cup?” Lily asks as they make their way back to the castle. “I always forget to keep track of the silly scoring system…”

Benjy smiles patiently. “We beat Hufflepuff on our last game, but Gryffindor beat us in March. Slytherin beat us at the beginning of the year as well, so, no, we’re out. I really wanted Gryffindor to flatten Slytherin this match and take the Cup again, but it’s not looking likely - Slytherin have actually gotten their act together and put together a half decent team this year, and now that Gryffindor don’t have Sirius Black as a Beater - it’s not looking good. Still, depending on how many points, Hufflepuff could still win overall even if Gryffindor do lose today.”

Lily blinks, trying to take all this in. “Give me a game of football any day,” she says.

The stands are rapidly filling by the time they get there. The last games of the season are always well attended, students needing to let off steam before the exams, and the fact that it’s a Gryffindor versus Slytherin match guarantees a big turn out. 

“I didn’t think you much of a Quidditch fan,” Benjy says as they squeeze past a group of girls decked in green and silver, and make their way to the section of the stands emblazoned with lions and scarlet. 

“I’m not, really,” Lily says. “Still, I suppose you’ve got to get into the spirit of these things, haven’t you?”

They reach Mary and Dorcas, the latter of which raises her eyebrows as she hears the tail end of their conversation. “Oh, sure, it’s got nothing to do with a certain messy-haired Chaser.”

“Shut up,” Lily says, feeling her face blush as she’s well aware that Benjy is still looking at her.

He grins in an annoying, knowing way. “You know, he’s actually a decent player when he’s not doing ridiculous trick shots to impress people. Anyway, it’ll be interesting to see how they get on without Black. I wonder - oh! There’s Amber.” He begins waving at Amber and the rest of his friends who are sat with the Ravenclaws. “I better go over. Thanks for today, Lily.”

Lily settles down on the bench next to Mary after Benjy leaves. Mary has cracked open a History of Magic book and is poring over it, although Lily thinks her sudden attention to her studies probably has more to do with the fact that she’s trying very hard to look like she doesn’t care about Richie filing on to the pitch with the other Gryffindors. It’s strange to see Potter troop out on to the pitch without Sirius beside him - the replacement Beater is Gwendolyn Fawley, a stocky Fourth Year with pigtails. Lily wonders how many people have turned up to watch the game to see how it unfolds without Sirius, and she feels a pang of sympathy for Gwendolyn as Madam Hooch blows her whistle and the players rise into the air. If Gryffindor do lose, Lily at least hopes that no one will blame her. 

Lily glances around to see if Sirius has come to the match, but in a sea of people all wearing red and gold it’s hard to distinguish anyone really. After a while of looking she spots Peter, easy to see with his large hand drawn flag with a lion on it that really roars, and next to him is Remus. Sirius isn’t with them, and not for the first time Lily wonders what on earth has happened between all of the boys that led to Sirius getting kicked off of the team in the first place. She’d seen Severus in lessons the day after, a deep gash on his arm that Lily noticed as he rolled up his robe sleeves to stir a potion, but she’d not asked him about it. They still weren’t speaking. Lily isn’t stupid though, and the rumours in Hogwarts never seem to stop, so there was no shortage of suggestions as to what actually happened.

“Tried to get near The Whomping Willow, that’s what I heard,” Lily overheard a girl saying in the bathroom one day, and out of all the possible suggestions Lily has heard, this one probably seems the most likely. 

Her stomach clenches when she thinks about what that could mean for Remus, and what really happened, but she isn’t about to go and ask Sev. A part of her, the part that is still angry with him, thinks that it serves him right that he got clobbered by the Willow, if he’s going about sticking his nose into other people’s business. The other part, the part of Lily that is forcing herself not to care, tries not think of it at all. In the end she’s decided that she’s better off not knowing.

Gwendolyn Fawley is a pretty decent player from what Lily can make of her, although she’s no great judge. She diverts a Bludger that streams straight towards Meredith Oliphant and she seems more than comfortable with a bat, and yet she doesn’t seem to possess the same grace on a broom that Sirius did. The rest of the Gryffindor team are feeling the strain as well from the looks of it and when the game is twenty minutes in, Slytherin are twenty points ahead, despite the best efforts of James and the other Chasers.

A groan erupts from the Gryffindor portion of the stands as the Keeper misses the Quaffle and it sails through the hoops, taking Slytherin to thirty points up.

“Merlin, this is painful,” Lily hears a voice say next to her, and she turns to find Sirius sat next to her, his face cupped in one hand, watching the game with an expression of immense melancholy.

“How did you get here?” Lily asks, fairly certain he hadn’t been there a few moments before.

“Magic,” Sirius says expressionlessly, still watching the events of the game unfold in front of him. “Oh, come on!” he erupts suddenly, gesturing angrily at the pitch where a Gryffindor aimed Bludger sails harmlessly past a Slytherin Chaser’s head. “That should have been an easy shot, this is just torture -”

“Are you even allowed to be here?” Mary asks, glancing up from her book. “I thought you were banned from any form of fun.”

Sirius produces a large Gryffindor scarf from his bag and a pair of sunglasses. He wraps the scarf around himself so that the lower part of his face is completely obscured and then slips the glasses on over his nose. 

“I’m incognito,” he says, his voice somewhat muffled by the scarf.

“You’re a bloody fool and in for a lot of trouble if McGonagall catches you,” Mary says with a shake of her head. 

“This should be my punishment,” Sirius mutters, waving a hand at the game, and although Lily can’t see, she’s fairly certain there’s a sneer going on beneath all that scarf. “Watching this lot lose us this game.”

“I’m not harboring a fugitive, Black,” Dorcas says, shuffling away from him. “Can’t you go sit with Peter and Remus?”

Behind the scarf, Sirius’ voice is oddly emotionless.

“No, I don’t think that would be the best idea. I just came for a bit anyway, just to see how bad it really is. I know James will probably lie to try to soften the blow later on but I had to see for myself - good Merlin, did Richie actually just allow himself to get hit by that Bludger?”

Mary looks up eagerly, and then wails, “Damn, I missed it!”

::

As soon as Regulus Black’s fingers enclose around the Snitch the Slytherins erupt in a roar of euphoria - Lily doesn’t need to understand Quidditch scoring to work out that they’ve won the Cup - and the Gryffindors around her all chorus “no!” but its lost in the swell of cheering. 

Lily watches as the Gryffindor team land back down on the pitch, and she can see the shock on their faces and the disappointment. Meredith storms off in the direction of the changing rooms without shaking George Reece’s hand, who is smirking like the cat that got the cream. Alfie McKinnon looks shaken, and Lily sees James approach him and say something in his ear that makes a slight smile appear on the younger boy’s face. James also goes over to Gwendolyn and gives her a consoling pat on the shoulder, before he too turns and trudges wearily to get changed.

“Come on,” Dorcas mutters in her ear, tugging on her arm. “Let’s get away before the Slytherins become unbearable.”

Lily, Mary and Dorcas find themselves squashed alongside Remus and Peter as they all file back towards the castle.

“At least Sirius wasn’t around to see that,” Peter says morosely, taking off his Gryffindor scarf, his Gryffindor flag hanging limply from his hand, the tail end of it nearly drooping down into the mud.

Back in the common room, the mood is subdued. There’s nothing now to distract them all from the fact that their exams start the day after tomorrow.

“I was looking forward to not studying tonight,” Dorcas groans, sinking on to the sofa. 

Mary pats her knee sympathetically. “We have a commiserating party instead of a celebrating one, if you like.”

Dorcas grumbles and reluctantly pulls Theoretical Aspects of Repelling Jinxes from out of her bag. “No,” she says wearily. “I suppose I should just get on with this…”

James and the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team troop in about half an hour later. A few people pat them on the shoulders as they walk by, and James sits across from Lily, scowling into the fire.

“Bad luck today, James,” Mary says.

James grunts. “Yeah, I reckon so.”

Lily wonders where Sirius has got to. He’d disappeared from the stands before the end of the game, seeming to just vanish into the sea of people. Remus and Peter sit down on either side of James, but both of them have the good sense not to mention anything to him. 

A moody looking Third Year traipses past them, muttering to his friend, “Can you believe it? We _always_ beat Slytherin.”

Mary rolls her eyes and says, loudly, “Wow, some people are really touchy about sports!”

The Third Year - Lily recognises him vaguely. His name is Watkins, Dwayne or Wayne or something - whips around from the conversation with his friend, scowling. “Some people had money on that game!”

James is still staring morosely into the fire. Lily glances at him, feeling an unusual pang in her chest. It takes her a moment to realise that she’s feeling sorry for James Potter. Instead of dwelling on that particular thought, she turns and fixes Watkins with a cool stare.

“Well, some people shouldn’t be gambling in school. And they especially shouldn’t be stupid enough to be blabbing about it in front of two Prefects.”

A red flush appears on Watkins’ neck. He mumbles something to his mate, and then his look hardens as Sirius appears from the boy’s dormitory and descends the stairs into the common room.

“We would have done all right,” Watkins says, jerking his head in Sirius’ direction, “if _he_ hadn’t got himself kicked off the team.”

Sirius stops in his tracks and blinks, clearly unsure of what he’s just walked into. 

“Everything okay here?” Sirius says, looking uncertainly between James and Watkins.

Watkins sneers. “Sure, nothing for you to worry yourself about. Not that you would.”

“Oi, Watkins,” James says sharply. “Shut up.”

“Well, why shouldn’t I say it like it is?” Watkins says defensively.

“Because you’re talking rubbish,” James snaps. Beside him, Remus is staring intently into the fire, a small frown on his face. “It’s not Sirius’ fault we lost.”

“Well, it didn’t help any,” Watkins mutters, “him going and getting himself chucked off the team -”

Remus clears his throat. It’s not a loud gesture, but Watkins stops speaking at once and all eyes fall on Remus, who looks up to meet Watkins’ gaze calmly.

“Now, I don’t understand much about Quidditch - I assume you don’t either, Watkins, because I’m pretty sure that you tried out at the start of term and didn’t make the cut - but I know when people are talking out of their arse. Sirius isn’t the only player on the team, so you need to back off.”

Watkins’ flush has spread from his neck up to his face. “You can’t be defending him, Lupin,” he says through gritted teeth. “Everyone knows you’re pissed off at him too -”

“Nobody knows anything,” Remus says levelly. “Least of all, you. Now I suggest you find a different topic of conversation before I take points off you for being an idiot.”

“Remus,” Lily murmurs, leaning into him. “You can’t -” she begins, but Remus shoots her a surprisingly stern look, and she turns her best Prefect stare on Watkins, deciding she may as well get in on the fun. “Yeah, Watkins. So we lost a Quidditch game. Big deal. Go cry about it somewhere else.”

Watkins glances at his friend for assistance, but the other boy has actually taken several steps away from him. Watkins glares around at them all, huffs loudly and then storms off.

A babble of talk breaks out almost immediately. James is staring admiringly at Lily. She can feel him watching her out of the corner of her eye, and she can’t help but smile even as she turns to ask Remus if he’s okay. Remus doesn’t stay put though, and in the next second he’s stood up and is climbing the stairs to the boy’s dormitory. Sirius pauses for just a moment before bolting after him.

There’s another lull in the conversation as the Gryffindors watch Sirius go. In the fallen hush, Lily hears Peter sigh.

“Oh, boy. Brace yourselves.”


	78. a confrontation.

_June 1976._

Remus is hardly two steps inside the dormitory before Sirius appears right behind him. Remus thinks about just walking straight back past him, maybe going and hiding out in the Prefect’s bathroom, but Sirius is stood against the door with his back to it, blocking his exit.

“Thanks for that,” Sirius says quietly. “Watkins is a prat.”

Remus shrugs. “Didn’t do it for you. I’m sure you don’t need defending from Third Years. I’m just having a monumentally bad couple of weeks, you see, and it felt good to take it out on someone.”

“Take it out on me,” Sirius says quickly, his eyes daring up. “Remus. I’m so sorry about -”

Remus holds up a hand, his fingers outstretched, and then curls them together to make a fist. “Sirius, I don’t want to hear it.”

“You keep saying that! But I don’t know what else to do, Remus! I am sorry, and if you won’t let me tell you -”

“Because this isn’t going to be fixed by following me around or notes on my desk or just saying sorry. You cant just win me over. I’m not James.”

Sirius stares at him for a long time. “I know you’re not James.”

Remus sighs. “You’re not going to move away from that door, are you?”

Sirius shakes his head wordlessly. Letting out a frustrated sigh, Remus sits down on the neatest bed. Unfortunately it happens to be Sirius’, and Remus really needs to tell him to stop putting on that much cologne because suddenly it’s as if the smell of him is _everywhere_. 

Remus glares up at him. “You have a minute.”

Sirius blinks as if he can’t quite believe his luck, and then, “Right, well, Moony, Remus, I am _so_ sorry. I know what I did to Snape was wrong, and I never meant to hurt you - Merlin, I never meant to hurt him, not in the way he thinks - I just wanted him to get smacked around a bit, right, because who doesn’t? I mean - sorry - it’s just, he gets under my skin, and there’s the whole thing with my family and I know I’ve been distant about them but it’s just I don’t think anybody will really understand or is in a position to be able to, I mean you’ve all got these great families, and then there’s me.”

Remus attempts to figure out if any of the tumble of words actually makes any sort of sense. In the end he just looks at Sirius hopelessly.

“So - you shut us out just because we get on with our parents?”

“I can’t describe it. I know it sounds mad. Being all - jealous, or feeling like you wouldn’t understand -”

“You are an idiot,” Remus tells him flatly. “I think I’d understand about not feeling like everybody else.”

“I never meant for him to find out about you, Remus,” Sirius says, his eyes wide. “You have to believe that.”

“I do believe that,” Remus says, and as soon as he says it he knows its true, knows its always been true.

Of course Sirius did not mean to hurt him; and yet, as Remus stares at Sirius, at his earnest expression, his grey eyes sincere and almost pleading, Remus realises something: it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter that Sirius didn’t mean to, because Sirius _had_. In a way that makes it even worse, because of course Sirius just wasn’t thinking, that’s what everyone who knows keeps on telling him, as if that somehow makes it better, that one of the people Remus trusted most in the world - the person that Remus has grown so attached to, has had feelings for - that person simply hadn’t taken a second to think of how their actions would effect anyone but themselves. Sirius hadn’t considered Remus, another victim of his cruel prank, or the consequences of what could have happened - what could still happen, even.

There’s an icy feeling in the pit of Remus’ stomach as if someone has put a Freezing Charm on him. 

“I believe you,” he says again, softly. “I just don’t think that means anything anymore.”

Sirius frowns, and then his eyebrows raise and his eyes widen as he registers the meaning of what Remus is saying. 

“Moony, no, don’t say that - of course it means something - it means I care about what I did, it means I never meant to hurt you.”

“But you did,” Remus says, shaking his head. “You did, Sirius, and it doesn’t matter how many times you say sorry because what you did can never be undone. You can’t take it back. Snape knows about me. You told _Snape_ about me - or as good as, you gave him all the pieces he needed to fit the puzzle together - and now he will always know. I’m always going to have that hanging over my head, forever.”

“I could Obliviate him,” Sirius suggests, and then immediately winces at the stern look on Remus’ face.

“God, can you just - not? This isn’t funny, Sirius. This is my life.”

Sirius reaches a hand out to grab at Remus, but Remus moves his arm away. He fervently hopes that that Sirius won’t be stupid enough to attempt to sit next to him on the bed, but Sirius seems to have gotten the hint and he hangs back by the door, staring at the empty space where he had just tried to reach out for Remus. Remus rubs his hands together, trying to think of how to explain it all to Sirius - he’s half annoyed that he even has to explain, but he wants Sirius to get it, to really get it. So what if Sirius feels guilty and his feelings get hurt? Remus can feel his anger tempering up again but he tries to keep his voice steady. 

“Until I graduate I’m going to have to share lessons and walk the same hallways as someone who knows I’m a werewolf. I know you can’t possibly imagine what that’s like but it’s - it’s like your worst secrets exposed. Think of every part of yourself that you hate and imagine it all being laid out in front of someone like Snape. Imagine worrying every day that today could be the day he decides to tell all his friends. Imagine Snape having leverage over you.”

Slowly, so slowly, Sirius’ expression crumbles, but now that Remus is talking, he can’t seem to stop. He stands up and is pacing now, unable to keep still.

“You never had to worry about coming to Hogwarts, did you?” he asks. 

Sirius shakes his head mutely and Remus’ lips twist into something that he knows must resemble a smile but feels like anything but. 

“So you can’t understand. I never knew, Sirius, I never knew that I could go to school and be a normal child or a normal teenager - I sure as hell know I’m not going to get to be a normal adult, not with the registry and trying to find a job that won’t sack me for missing three days a month of work - and when I got the letter, when Dumbledore told me that he’d made arrangements especially for me - you couldn’t get it. You couldn’t understand.”

“Moony, I -”

“Hogwarts was my safe place,” Remus says sharply, his voice rising and cracking despite his best efforts, cutting him off. “It was where I didn’t have to worry, where I could hide for a little while and pretend, and you’ve taken that away from me. So I’m sorry that you feel bad, but I don’t think I can forgive you for that.”

The words hang between them, heavy and obtrusive. Sirius has gone very still. When at last he raises his head, his eyes are bright. Remus is tired, so very tired. He sighs heavily and then summons the energy to speak again.

“I know I can’t ignore you forever though, so I suppose we’ll just have to be civil to each other for the rest of our time here.”

A panicked look sparks across Sirius’ face. “You what?”

“I can’t fight with you for two years, Sirius. It’s draining just being around you. This - all of this. You. Me.” Remus waves a hand, not quite sure what he’s trying to convey. He really wishes Sirius would go away so that he can go to sleep. 

“So - what - we’re just _civil_ to each other?” Sirius says, lip curling in disdain. “Bollocks to that! That’s worse than if you hated me, or if you just wanted to hit me a few times.”

“I’m not going to hit you,” Remus says wearily. “I just can’t hear all your excuses any more. I don't want to hear any of it.”

Something flashes in Sirius’ eyes, something that looks almost like anger, and then suddenly his hand is gripped around Remus’ wrist, anchoring him to the spot. 

“Hear _this_ ,” Sirius says, almost a growl, and tugs Remus forward so that their mouths crash together.

The kiss is hard and forceful, and not at all how Remus had imagined their first kiss. It could never be described as tender, but it feels powerful, as if all of the words that Sirius has been trying to get out over the last couple of weeks, all of the feelings that have been bottled up, are suddenly unstopped, poured out into this one decisive action. 

Remus feels his own pent up emotions raging inside him, his anger and his confusion, his resolve splintering. He makes a noise that is halfway between a squeak and a moan, and Sirius pulls away from him, still with his hand around Remus’ arm. Remus can feel his pulse jumping in his wrist, beating against Sirius’ fingertips. Sirius’ eyes are stormy looking and he tears his gaze up from Remus’ mouth and looks at him almost challengingly.

Remus’ mind is racing; his lips feel almost numb, and he doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know what Sirius is trying to prove. He touches a hand to his own mouth, frowning. Sirius still hasn’t looked away from him. A mad desire to laugh bubbles up in Remus’ chest and yet he knows that would be entirely the wrong response.

There’s a knock at the door and Remus tears his hand away from Sirius.

“Oi, you two, is it safe?” James calls.

“Er,” Remus croaks.

James pokes his head around the door cautiously. From under his elbow Peter is peeking in as well. When they see Sirius and Remus in such close proximity, James’ face splits into a smile and he pushes the door fully open and walks in.

“Oh, good, the coast is clear,” James says, Peter following behind him. “We just wanted to make sure you two weren’t going at it.”

Sirius laughs, and it comes out a little high pitched. “No, all good here. Right, Moony?”

Remus only manages a nod.

James sits himself on his bed.

“Good, because I’ve been wanting to talk to you - both of you,” he says seriously. His hazel eyes find Remus first and fix him with that solemn James stare that sometimes makes an appearance and is all the more effective for its rarity. Remus can feel himself squirming already, although that may be because Sirius is still stood so close to him. “Moony, we know that Sirius messed up - but I really feel we need to band together now.”

“James,” Sirius starts hesitantly.

James throws up his hand in Sirius’ direction. “Quiet. I’m getting to you in a moment.” His gaze doesn’t leave Remus. “I love you both like brothers, and I hate seeing you two fighting. Any of us falling out just seems wrong. Right, Pete?”

Peter nods hurriedly, and then, when James clears his throat expectantly, he says, “Oh! Yeah. It’s not right, we’re all best mates, and at a time like this, friends are important.”

Remus sneaks a glance at Sirius to see how he’s taking this intervention. It’s clear that Peter and James have at least discussed this tactic beforehand if not outright planned the speech. Sirius looks like he’s trying not to laugh, or maybe cry. 

“Exactly. We’re all on the same side, and although some of us -” here James shoots Sirius a look that makes the mirth drain from his face quickly, “- make ridiculous, badly thought out decisions that can effect the rest of us - I know deep down we all need each other if we’re going to get through whatever is coming our way next.”

Remus folds his arms over his chest. “So, I’m just supposed to forgive him for being a massive twat and outing my secret?”

“Oh, no one is denying he’s a massive twat,” Peter says, perfectly cheerful. Sirius glowers at him, but Peter seems to be enjoying this part of the speech. “But it’s like Dumbledore is always banging on about, isn’t it - all that, we’re only as strong as we are divided - no, wait - we’re only as - we’re stronger together, basically.”

James rolls his eyes. “Ever the word-smith over there. But Wormtail is right - and Remus, I know it’s not going to be easy, and Sirius knows that he’s going to have to rebuild your trust - right, Padfoot?”

Sirius nods so quickly his hair flies across his face. “Absolutely.”

“But I think we should all bury the hatchet and make up. If not for each other, then at least for our adoring public.”

Remus snorts. “We’re not the Beatles breaking up, James.”

Sirius tilts his head to one side. “Would that make Snape Yoko?” He shudders. “What a thought.”

“I’m not being Lennon, if that’s the case,” Peter says quickly.

James regards him fondly. “You’d never be Lennon in the first place, Petey.”

Peter makes a squawk of protest and Sirius sniggers. James is still looking fixedly at Remus, and all joking aside, his meaning is clear: Is this okay? Remus musters up a small smile and nods, and James’ face relaxes.

He swings his legs off of the bed and makes his way to the bathroom; a few seconds later they hear the running of the shower water. Peter smiles at them both and carries on getting dressed in his pyjamas, now humming _Yellow Submarine_. 

Sirius turns to face Remus. “You mean it? You forgive me?”

“I said I’ve decided to stop fighting,” Remus corrects, and tries to ignore the sting he feels when Sirius’ expression falls. “Forgiveness -” he sighs heavily and half shrugs. “I don't know. But James and Peter have a point - this war is bigger than all of us, and we can’t start turning on each other now.”

“Okay,” Sirius says quietly. “And Moony - about -”

Remus’ stomach contracts sharply; he isn’t sure he wants to hear whatever Sirius has to say next, especially not with Peter in such close proximity, loudly humming off key Beatles tunes, but Sirius never finishes his sentence because a moment later Peter gives a yell as he peels back his bed covers.

“Yeuch! Who put a Chocolate Frog in my bed? It’s all melted - and - oh, gross - still _moving_.”

Sirius grins at Remus. “I did,” he whispers. “About two days ago. Silly bugger’s been sleeping on it since Tuesday.”

“Of course you did,” Remus mutters. He avoids looking directly at Sirius, and instead addresses his shoelaces. “Anyway, I’m exhausted, so I’m just going to -”

“Wait, Remus, can I just say -”

“Sirius,” Remus says, as gently as he can. “I’d really rather you didn’t. Not now, okay?”

After a moments pause, Sirius nods. He finally steps away from Remus and Remus feels suddenly alone. His head swimming, he busies himself with getting ready for bed. He’s mostly likely imagining it, but he fancies he can still feel his lips tingling from where Sirius’ had been pressed against them. When he woke up this morning, he hadn’t thought his feelings for Sirius could get any more convoluted, and is just realising how very, very wrong he had been.


	79. end of term.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So apparently it's been 4 years since I started this?! That seems bizarre, but happy birthday to this fic, I suppose! The end of 5th year seems as good a place to mark it as any. *confetti*

_Mid to late June 1976._

On the first day of the O.W.L’s, there’s a marked difference hanging in the atmosphere of the castle which hits Lily as soon as she wakes up. Dorcas smiles at her as she pulls back the curtains of her four-poster bed, but it’s a tight sort of smile, not her usual easy grin. There’s an absence of the usual chatter as Lily heads into the bathroom to wash her face and teeth, and when she taps Moira on the back to get her attention to ask if she can borrow her hairbrush, Moira jumps about a foot in the air. Even Mary, who has spent the weeks leading up to the exam period glibly telling anyone who would listen that she doesn’t care what marks she gets, goes decidedly pale at breakfast when she sees Professor Flitwick levitating the large copper hourglass into place in the Great Hall. There are new faces at the teacher’s table as well, and the Gryffindor table is full of discussion about which of the examiners look like a soft touch, and which ones will be the ones to watch out for.

Lily eats as much of her porridge as she can even though she’s not hungry in the least. She tries to tell herself that it’s just like any other end of year exam, but the taut, worried expressions of her peers is doing nothing to alleviate her nerves. She glances around at her fellow Fifth Years - all sat tightly packed together today, a bundle of nervous energy that’s probably doing nobody any good and only letting their anxiety feed of off each other, she thinks - and sees that only one person is immune to the pre-exam jitters. 

James has _A Theory of Charms_ propped up against the milk jug, his eyes fixed on the text in front of him as he uses his wand to turn the pages with one hand and is idly attempting to spoon scrambled eggs into his mouth with the other, but is missing more often than not. Peter is talking to Remus, his words coming out quickly and all running into one another, but from what Lily manages to hear it sounds like he’s running through all of the charms and their wand movements they’ve learned since First Year. Remus is staring at his own untouched breakfast. It looks like he’s not hearing a word Peter is saying, but every so often he gives a terse correction, an eyelid twitching with every mistake Peter makes.

Sirius, of course, is eating his breakfast without a care in the world. He’s tipped his chair back on two legs as he laughs at something Alfie McKinnon is saying to him, and doesn’t seem to even be aware that it’s the start of O.W.L’s, that his very future lies in the balance. In fact he looks around at all of his classmates and has the nerve to grin at the sight of them all.

“Come on MacDonald, you’re not worried are you? I thought you were off to join the circus or something as soon as possible.”

Mary grips her fork tighter and gives Sirius a look that would make lesser men back off, but Sirius merely laughs.

Lily glances over to the Slytherin table and sees Severus, his dark head bent low over a piece of parchment, hastily scribbling something down. Lily looks away just as quickly. The last thing she needs now is to think about Severus on top of the exam nerves.

When the bell sounds the Gryffindors jump up. Their first exam starts at 9am: Theory of Charms. They quickly head upstairs to get their things and then meet back downstairs in time to see Professor Charcross clearing away the four long tables that usually dominate The Great Hall, and instead replacing them with about 50 or so single desks. One of the wizards that Lily saw at the teacher’s table walks past and smiles reassuringly at the students as he goes; or maybe it’s a sneer, Lily is too busy trying to remember everything she’s ever been taught to notice.

As with most things that Lily spends time obsessively worrying about, the reality of the exams is nowhere near as awful as she had anticipated. Maybe it’s because Charms is by far her best subject, but halfway into that first exam, when the examiner announces that they have one hour left, Lily even allows herself a small smile as she returns to her parchment to tackle the next question. She knows this stuff. She can describe the incantation to make an inanimate object grow legs and spin like a top; she knows the wand movements for the Locomotor Charm; she can recite Waffling’s Fundamental Laws of Magic. At the end of the exam, Lily turns in her chair to have a look at her friends as Professor Charcross collects in their parchment. It looks like a pretty mixed bag of emotions. Dorcas looks exhausted but gives her a thumbs up; Peter is staring down at his desk with a look of abject horror on his face; not aware that anyone is watching him, James is frowning, running a hand through his hair, but when Sirius turns and gives him a wink, James smirks and gives him a cocky salute in return. As they're filing out of the Great Hall, James passes her, murmuring a quiet, "Thanks, Evans, couldn't have done it without you," and Lily's heart speeds up as she watches him disappear into the throng of people.

“That wasn’t terrible,” Dorcas says grudgingly as they approach the staircase. “How’d you do, Mar?”

Mary shrugs. “I won’t need it to be a model anyway, right?”

She flashes them a brief smile, but she still looks pretty glum. Lily slings an arm around her shoulder as they walk.

“You’ll have to be sure you won’t forget us when you’re living the glamorous modelling life in Paris.”

Behind them, a loud scathing laugh erupts that makes Mary tense under Lily’s arm. Lily doesn’t have to look to know who it is; she’d recognise Mulciber’s laugh anywhere. Lily squeezes Mary’s shoulder reassuringly, not turning around, and the girls continue to walk towards the main staircase to go up to Gryffindor Tower. Whether consciously or not, Mary’s step has quickened. They’re nearly at the foot of the staircase when Mulciber’s voice rings out, clear and carrying even across the noise of students chatter.

“Someone tell me you’re joking. You’ve got to be. MacDonald, a model? Perish the thought!”

Lily whips around. Mulciber’s grin makes her anger ten times worse. What’s worse is that Severus is next to him, his nose buried in a copy of the question parchment from the exam. He doesn’t look up, but Lily can tell that he’s long stopped reading.

“Mind your own business, Mulciber. No one care about your opinion.”

“What are you going to do to make me, Evans? I’m only saying what everyone is thinking. Models need to get used to hearing criticism, am I wrong?”

Dorcas pulls on her arm. “Lily, come on. Let’s just go back to the common room.”

A few stragglers are watching the scene unfold. Lily gives Mulciber one more disgusted look and then turns to follow her friends. Mary still hasn’t turned around but her face is bright red and she’s shaking. Lily touches her briefly on the elbow. They’re halfway up the stairs when she hears Mulciber speak again.

“Who would want to photograph _that_ anyway? I mean, a Mudblood is one thing, but an ugly Mudblood is really too much -”

A jet of bright white light streaks past Lily’s ear and hits Mulciber square in the back, knocking him face-down on the floor. He swears loudly, his hands reaching behind his back to claw wildly at his back. He rolls over, and gets another spell right in the face. Lily’s mouth falls open in shock. Almost immediately Mulciber’s cheeks begin to swell, his eyes go puffy, one side of his face covered in angry red welts. It takes Lily a moment to realise that it’s Mary who cast the Stinging Jinx, and she turns to her friend, half-impressed, half wondering if Mary’s lost her mind.

“Mary -”

“You filthy bitch,” Mulciber growls, drawing his own wand, but Lily is quicker. 

She and Dorcas have raised their wands alongside Mary’s before Mulciber can even aim his. Severus has looked up from his parchment at last, watching the scene unfold with a drawn expression on his face. He’s made no effort to draw his own wand. 

“I don’t think you’ll be winning as beauty contests any time soon either, Mulciber,” Mary says coolly.

Laughter and even a scattering of applause sounds from the crowd. Jacob Yaxley pushes his way forward and bends down to haul Mulciber up. Mulciber opens his mouth but no words come out; his mouth is swollen too much. Severus locks eyes briefly with Lily; his expression doesn’t change. He looks almost bored as he and Yaxley lead Mulciber away in the direction of the Hospital Wing.

Only when the Slytherins have completely disappeared from view does Mary drop her wand arm to her side. She looks at Lily, her eyes wide.

“Oh, God, that was incredibly stupid, wasn’t it?”

Dorcas is looking at her in concern. “Probably not the best idea you’ve had lately.”

Mary shrugs. “Got it in for me anyway, doesn’t he?” she says, sounding miserable. “I just couldn’t help it, the guy is such a creep…”

Lily fervently agrees. There’s been more than one occasion where she’s wanted nothing more than to hex Mulciber’s features off of his smug looking face, and yet she can’t help the chill of worry that sweeps over her. Joseph Mulciber isn’t the type to let things go. 

She clears her throat and addresses the throng of students, adopting her best Prefect voice. “Right, clear off, you lot! Get to your common rooms.”

She exchanges a worried glance with Dorcas and then between them they lead Mary up the stairs.

::

The rest of the Gryffindors all think that it’s brilliant, of course. James personally approaches Mary to shake her hand upon hearing what she’s done to Mulciber, and he and Sirius lament loudly that they’d left before they got a chance to witness it. McGonagall finds out as well in due course and docks Mary points, but most of their House seem to be in agreement that it had been well worth it. 

For a couple of days things carry on without incident. The rest of their exams roll around and Lily finds that she’s not as terrified of them as she had been at the beginning of all of this. Care of Magical Creatures is a fun exam, the practical side of it being for the girls being to get a unicorn to trust and approach them. Across the paddock the boys are bowing to a Hippogriff each and then attempting to ride them once around the gated area. The written side of it is more challenging, and Lily is fairly sure that she’s mixed up her dragon types. 

Transfiguration is where she nearly loses her cool completely, and she nearly cries with relief when she sees that one of the questions for the most amount of marks is about Cross-Species Switching. She thinks back to James’ notes and the essay he had let her borrow, and suddenly she can see all the information written out in his neat script. The rest of the exam seems to flow far more easily for her after that, and she leaves the exam hall smiling. 

It’s when waiting for their History of Magic exam to start that Lily notices Mary isn’t in the queue of Fifth Year students lining up to receive their Anti-Cheating Quills from the examiner, but Lily doesn’t have time to question Dorcas about it. Ushered to her seat, Lily glances down at the parchment with a sinking feeling in her stomach. All of a sudden all of the dates and names she has spent the last five years learning are alluding her, and she wonders if she can get away with outright making some of them up. Her concentration does not improve when, with under a minute to spare, the door bangs open and Joseph Mulciber strolls in.

The two hours seem to take ten, and afterwards Lily practically shoves her exam parchment at the examiner and jogs from the hall to find Dorcas. They leave The Great Hall in a rush and are the first ones back in Gryffindor Tower. Their dormitory is not empty, though, and Lily feels her stomach drop as she takes in the sight of Mary huddled up on her bed with her knees drawn up to her chest.

“Mary?” Lily says hesitantly. She sits down next to her friend and it’s then that Lily sees it.

Mary has two jagged cuts on her cheek. One is a vertical line, and there’s the beginnings of another mark leading away from that. 

“Mary, what -?” Lily begins, looking with panic from the cuts on Mary’s face to Dorcas, who is looking at Mary with the same horrified expression Lily imagines she has on her own face.

“It was meant to be an M,” Mary says, dropping her chin to her knees so that a curtain of her falls down, shielding her face from view. “But I got away before he could finish it. M for Mary. M for model. M for Mudblood.”

“Mulciber did this?!” 

Dorcas inhales sharply. “Mary, we have to tell someone - tell McGongall, or even Dumbledore -”

“No,” Mary says, pulling her shoulder away from where Lily has attempted to give her a one-shouldered hug. “What do you think he’d do if I told? Please, I just want to forget the whole thing…”

Lily looks at Dorcas, feeling helpless. Dorcas retrieves some dittany from the Hospital Wing, and they bundle Mary under the covers and tell her it’ll be okay, that it won’t scar, but in the back of her mind Lily can’t help but wonder what would have happened if Mary hadn’t been able to get away. Her stomach twists and she feels sick at the very thought, but Mary gets panicked whenever one of them mentions telling a teacher so that’s out of the question. Eventually Mary falls into a fitful sleep nestled in to Lily’s side, with Lily absently stroking her hair.

Both Lily and Dorcas promise that they won’t tell anyone, and yet Hogwarts being Hogwarts ensures that some part of the story has been leaked the very next day. As always, there are differing accounts on what actually happened, but when students find out, the Gryffindors in particular want revenge. James swears to anyone who’ll listen that he’s going to go down to the Slytherin common right right that instance and hex Mulciber’s eyes off. Lily, trying to concentrate on her Divination revision, sighs and glares at him from over the rim of her book.

“Don’t be an idiot. The last thing we need is an all out war between us and the Slytherins.”

“That seems exactly what should be happening,” James says darkly. 

“Really, James, just leave it,” Mary begs and only then does James fall silent.

Lily had hoped that would be the end of it. Over the next day or so however there is a noticeable increase of jinxing in the hallways, mostly Gryffindor aimed at Slytherin, and more than once Lily finds herself in the middle of some argument between students from the two Houses. A part of Lily thinks they have the right idea, but each night she looks guiltily at her Prefect badge and at Mary, and thinks of the promise she made to Mary that she wouldn’t make it worse by telling anyone.

At breakfast on the day of their last exam, Mulciber immediately starts vomiting after his first mouthful of porridge and has to be led away by a queasy-looking Yaxley. Sirius and James high-five each other across the milk jug, Peter is laughing, and even Remus is smiling slightly as he pours himself a cup of tea. Mary, however, is looking wide-eyed and worried, and Lily glares at James.

“Are you an idiot? I thought we all agreed not to make things worse.”

James frowns at her. “Oh, come off it, Evans. Mulciber deserves it, and worse. Mary, I promise, he won’t bother you again.”

“Let him just try and come after us,” Sirius says, smirking. 

Lily is still glaring. James glances between the two of them and attempts to change the subject.

“You two have Muggle Studies this morning, right? Feeling confident?”

“No,” Lily says, at the exact same time that Sirius says, “Of course!”

James smiles at Lily, and something about it causes her bad mood to deepen.

“Come on, Evans, you’re Muggle-born!” he says, laughing. “The Muggle Studies exam will be a doddle, right?”

“Yeah, because anything to do with Muggles is automatically easy,” Lily snaps, standing up and storming out of The Great Hall. 

She’ll never know if it’s the general stress of exams, the worry about the ongoing altercation between her House and Mulciber, or that first argument with James that causes her to blow up that afternoon after their Defence Against the Dark Arts exam. But when Lily looks up and sees Severus dangling from his ankles, something inside her snaps. She marches over without a second thought. She can’t believe that after everything, after telling him not to make things worse, that James would be so utterly stupid. It’s a good job that Mulciber isn’t anywhere near the scene, still laid up in the Hospital Wing vomiting, and Lily can handle Severus. 

When he says _that_ word, however, Lily feels as if she’s been plunged into an icy lake. She blinks, reeling back slightly, everything feeling very small and concentrated on this one moment. It’s as if all of the air has been sucked away from her, and yet she’s surprised at herself at how easy it is to stare impassively down at Severus, as if all the years of friendship don’t matter or never existed at all. Looking at him in that instant, Lily feels like she’s seeing him for the first time, and it’s no trouble at all to bury her feelings, her hurt and her shock, and instead sneer down at him, to call him that name she knows he hates because they call him it. Lily feels little remorse, and why should she? He needs to be able to take it, if he’s to dish it out. He even has the nerve to look offended, and that only makes her angrier.

Yelling at James makes her feel better, if only because it gives her something immediate to focus on. She feels disgusted by the whole sorry lot of them. Sirius, with his goading grin; Peter, looking eagerly at the unfolding disaster; Remus, his eyes unblinking on the book in front of him; and Potter. Potter most of all. Rushing to her defence like she needs it - and if she did, it certainly would not be from him. And he even has the nerve, the sheer cheek to use the situation to ask her out. She’s not sure who she’s angriest at, and it’s probably for the best that she storms back to Mary and Dorcas before she does something she regrets.

She’s still going on about it that evening. In the dormitory Moira had started asking questions as soon as the other three walked in. Mary had gone to the kitchens to get them all some hot chocolate, although Lily thinks that maybe she’d volunteered so readily just to get a break from Lily’s ranting. Dorcas is flipping through a book, nodding and humming absently whenever Lily stops in the middle of sentences such as, “He’s got a nerve, hasn’t he?” and “He thinks he’s God’s gift, that’s what his problem is.”

Mary edges into the room balancing four cups topped with cream and marshmallows, and she gives one to Lily along with an apologetic look. 

“Snape is outside the portrait hole. Says he won’t leave until you speak with him.”

Lily shrugs, scooping cream out of her cup. “Guess he’ll have to spend the night, then.”

Mary’s expression darkens. “He probably will.”

“With any luck James and Sirius will find him there,” Moira says, her tone almost excited.

Lily gives her a withering look before getting to her feet. She had better go and get rid of him before one of the boys do find him, she supposes. She doesn’t have anything to say to him, and nothing she wants to hear. He’s said it all anyway, he’s made it perfectly clear how he feels. Really, she just wants rid of him now. Even when he’s talking to her, pleading with her, it’s remarkably easy to feel - nothing. She’s surprised at how it doesn’t hurt more, although maybe that will come later. For now Lily still has her anger, her disappointment, and the stirrings of pity as she walks away from Severus, back to her friends.

::

The final days of school are strange. Lily can’t remember ever looking forward to the summer holidays as much as she does now. The last month has been so full-on, so relentless, that she can’t wait to get back to Cokeworth and it’s simplicity. She’s not looking forward to being a mere ten minutes away from Severus, but she’s made enough plans to keep her busy so that avoiding him should be pretty easy. Her and her mum are going to visit her mum’s cousin for a few days in Scarborough, and she and Mary and Dorcas have been talking about going to Muggle London all together, and both girls have extended invitations to both of their houses. 

“Or we could come and visit you,” Mary says, as they wait on the Hogsmeade platform for the Hogwarts Express to open its doors. 

Lily imagines her friends in Cokeworth, with its bleak, smoggy air, the imposing mills dominating the skyline, the litter-strewn canal, the dilapidated playground. 

“I warn you, it’s no Paris,” she says.

Mary laughs. “Lily, I’m from Lambeth. Anything North of Watford is exotic to me.”

“That’s that settled then,” Dorcas says cheerily, as the doors finally open and students all begin to surge forward. 

They’ve just set foot inside the train and are looking for an empty compartment when Lily feels a tap on her shoulder. Looking behind her, she sees a glimpse of messy black hair, and she tugs her trunk determinedly in the other direction.

She’s not spoken to Potter at all since the incident down by the lake. In fact she’s not spoken to any of them, not even Remus properly, and the one time they landed hallway patrol together was an oddly frosty experience. The one time he looked like he was about to bring it up, she’d said, before he got a chance, “So - things with you and Sirius all right now, then?” and that had shut him up. Whatever had gone on between all of the boys in May, when the common room was full of tension and pointed silences and nasty looks, he clearly wasn’t going to speak about it with her, and so she wasn’t going to speak to him about this. Childish, maybe, but Lily is still harbouring a grudge that Remus sat back and did nothing that day, and so he gets ignored along with everybody else. Lily’s done with being disappointed with people. 

“Evans,” Potter says, following behind her. “Evans, just wait a second -”

“No,” Lily says, whirling around so suddenly that Potter has to take a step back. His friends are nowhere in sight, and James Potter strikes an oddly lonely figure stood in the walkway of the train. “No. You listen to me. This is the last few hours of my time with my friends, and I do not want it ruined by you. So just go and find your mates, and leave me alone.”

“Wow,” Dorcas says appreciatively, hurrying to catch Lily up after she resumes her marching down the train. “That told him. He looked almost - upset.”

They find an empty compartment and sit themselves down. Lily tries not to be bothered by it. So what if Potter is upset? Not that he would be, of course, he’ll probably just go and rejoin the others and take the piss out of her and come up with more ways to annoy her next year. Lily shoves her trunk away with more force than is probably necessary, and then slumps into the window-seat, glad - for once - that this year is over.

::

“Went well then, did it?” Sirius asks, as James enters their carriage with a downward slope to his shoulders.

“She hates me,” James says mournfully. “Just because I hexed Snape. I always hex Snape.”

“I think that’s partly the problem, James, my boy,” Sirius says, putting his feet up on the seat opposite him and trying to ignore the nerves that are starting to gnaw away at his ribcage as the train starts.

“Imagine what she’d do to you if she knew what you did to him,” James says darkly, and Sirius raises his eyebrows. James immediately sighs and says, “Sorry. That was uncalled for. I just - ugh! He’s such a little rat - whoops, sorry, Pete -”

“Oh, he’s dead to the world,” Sirius says, giving Peter an amiable kick to the ankles, but the smaller boy sleeps on, his mouth slightly open and his head lolling back. “It’s quite impressive, really. The party last night must have really taken it out of him.”

“Either that or we overdid it on the Firewhiskey.”

“Blasphemy,” Sirius says, holding up a hand to silence James. “I hope Remus swings by the trolley on the way back from the Prefect meeting; I’m starving.”

James snorts. “You had three helpings at breakfast. Anyone would think you didn’t get fed at home.”

“Hmm. I’m sure if Mother had her way I probably would be left to forage in the rubbish bins -”

“Oh, mate, sorry, I didn’t mean - shit, I am being an insensitive prick today, aren’t I? Maybe Evans had a point.”

“I think the words were ‘arrogant, bullying toerag’,” Sirius corrects, looking fondly at James. “Although ‘insensitive, bullying prick’ may have been more apt if she weren’t so goody-goody. And anyway, never mind about her! I’ve been saying for years you’ve been barking up the wrong tree - or - pawing at the wrong ground - whatever stags do.” 

“You gave me your approval once,” James reminds him.

“Well, she makes you look so sad and sort of pathetic,” Sirius says, shrugging. “As much as your children would have wonderful, uncontrollable ginger hair - there comes a time when, as your best mate, I have to say, enough is enough.”

“We were getting to be such good friends as well!”

“That’s often the worst part,” Sirius says, his mind flashing briefly to Remus. 

James frowns at him uncomprehendingly and Sirius shakes himself out of his reverie. No time for dwelling on any of that. Their kiss, rather than the beginning of things, had the sense of an ending. A full stop after the chaos of feelings of the last year and a half. He knows he only has himself to blame, for everything being snuffed out before it had a chance to fully ignite, and perhaps the best course of action would have been to have waited until their fractured friendship was fully mended before he went barging in with things like declarations and lips against lips, and yet waiting and patience has never been Sirius’ game, and so here they are. The kiss had been all of Sirius’ cards on the table, and Remus has clearly decided that no further moves were needed. Game over. They’re back on speaking terms, and Sirius thinks he’ll just have to live with that, although he does wonder if he looks quite as downtrodden and wilted as James does in this moment.

“Will we see you this summer?” James asks. 

“Wasn’t sure if I was invited.”

James frowns. “Don’t be an idiot. The invitation is always open.”

Sirius nods and scratches at his chin, looking out at the window as if James’ words don’t touch him in the slightest. He clears his throat.

“Well, yeah, then, in that case. I’ll try to get away as soon as I can. Mother wants to take us all to Italy, I think -”

“And you’re going?” James looks at Sirius like he’s even more of an idiot. “You’re honestly still going along with all of this archaic, ridiculous Pureblood rubbish?”

“Now you’re starting to sound like Evans,” Sirius says lightly. “And besides, _you’re_ an archaic ridiculous Pureblood.”

James raises his eyebrows so that they disappear under his hair. “Our families are quite different, Padfoot.”

“Yeah,” Sirius mutters, irritated now. “I don’t need to be reminded.”

James will take on the Potter mantle with the ease that he seems to do everything, wearing the title like a crown. For Sirius carrying on the Black family name feels more like a curse, a downward pressure pushing in on him, crushing him, leaving him trapped and breathless. The only reason he has to go back at all is Regulus. He’s going to get them both out, he’s long decided. He had a lot of time over the Easter holidays to plan it out and think things over, and now he’s only half-terrified of what he’s got up his sleeve. He’s already taken a few of the lesser family heirlooms and sold them in Knockturn to people who won’t ask questions, and he thinks he’s got enough money now to get them both out. Before or after Italy, though, that’s the question -

“All right,” Remus says, opening the door to the compartment, looking exhausted already. He sinks into the seat next to Sirius and drops his head into one hand, massaging his temples. “Someone remind me why Prefects shouldn’t kill Second Years.”

“It would look terribly bad on any references,” James says.

Remus smiles wearily. “Good point. They’re just so _loud_.”

“Well, we’re quiet as mice here,” James says. “Pete’s out for the count and this one looks deep in thought, which never bodes well. Care to share, Pads?”

Sirius shakes his head. He’s already decided not to involve his friends in any of his plans. Far too risky, and he won’t expose Andromeda, Ted, or Nymphadora by going to his cousin’s either. He’s not sure where he and Reg will go, really, he just knows that his time in Grimmauld Place is well and truly up.

“Just the usual rubbish,” Sirius says, smiling at Remus and feeling a thrill zip up his spine when Remus half-smiles back at him. “And speaking of sharing - Moony, did you get any food?”

“Would I ever let you down,” Remus says dryly, producing a pack of Licorice Wands and a pumpkin pasty and chucks them at Sirius, his eye-roll only half-hearted.


End file.
